


Amelioration

by morierblackleaf



Series: Induration [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Anguish, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 241,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morierblackleaf/pseuds/morierblackleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 6 of my "Induration" series, beginning a few days after the events of Part 5, "Induration."</p><p>Fighting against a sorrow that is compounded by being betrayed by his father and friends and filled with rage for his attacker, Legolas flees the valley to find his tormentor. Legolas hopes to redeem himself and is determined to live long enough to kill his attacker so he can ensure Estel's safety. Meanwhile, Estel hunts for his missing lover to bring him back to him, to bring him home safely, but becomes the hunted in the process. Please pay attention to the tags. This story is rife with abuse mental, physical, and sexual, and includes self-harm and extreme psychological disturbance.</p><p>I own none of these characters and make no money from writing about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Having awoken before sunrise, at the same time and with nothing that day to do other than be in love and enjoy the valley of Imladris, Legolas was inspecting his human lover bit by bit, starting with the Adan’s hands. He had woken with his head upon the man’s chest and Estel’s arm around his shoulders to hold him tightly to him, but now the human was lying upon his back, his eyes open and upon Legolas, though neither had yet to speak upon wakening, and the Prince laid on his side beside the human, his head propped upon his hand._

_Estel’s fingers were heavy and strong, his hands calloused from living in the woods and wielding a sword. The Ranger kept his nails very short to keep them clean, but could never seem to be rid of the embedded soil in the calluses of his palms, scrub though he did. The Prince trailed his own long, slender fingers over the back of the man’s left hand, which was resting upon Aragorn’s chest. Firstborn bodies were not terribly dissimilar to Secondborn bodies, but even for a human, Estel was made exceptionally, in Legolas’ opinion. The Ranger’s strong hand was joined to his thick, muscled wrist and equally stout forearm, which was peppered with dark hair. As he trailed his fingertips through this hair, his touch light and familiar, the muscles under the Ranger’s lean flesh quivered under his tanned skin – unintentionally, Legolas had tickled Estel when his fingers lingered against the inside of the man’s elbow. He looked up to his lover’s face to see the beginnings of a sleepy smile curling at the corners of Aragorn’s mouth._

_Shirtless and uncovered in the coming dawn’s illumination, the Ranger’s hide looked like supple calfskin. Onwards his fingers explored, up the man’s arm and to his shoulder, where there was a scar upon the cords of muscle that ran above his collarbone. Legolas followed this slightly lighter colored pucker upon the Adan’s flesh until it ended at the base of Aragorn’s throat, and then he moved downwards. Hair stippled Estel’s chest, with the occasional grey hair found amongst the dark. Legolas was unaware that his mouth hung slightly open and was nearly watering from the desire to trail Estel’s broad chest with his lips instead of his fingers, but Aragorn could see the lasciviousness upon his lover’s face. He only laid there, however, in shared, comfortable silence._

_Rather than his mouth, Legolas used his fingernails to abrade gently against the darker-fleshed buds of the human’s chest, before his fingers dawdled downwards, rifling the Adan’s dark hair, over the man’s taut belly, the muscles underneath his tea-colored skin again rippling as Legolas’ fingers tickled the sensitive flesh of his ribs. At seeing this, the now beaming Prince once more looked to Estel to find that the human was outright grinning back at him. His fingers kept roaming downwards until he hit the waist of the man’s trousers. Normally, Aragorn slept in the nude during the summer – at home in the valley, anyway – but last night he had fallen asleep without removing them. Instead of breaching this impediment to his exploration, Legolas retraced his fingers’ route back up the Ranger’s chest and to his throat, where he lovingly scratched against the stubble upon the Adan’s chin and cheeks. He ran his thumb over Aragorn’s mouth, feeling the Ranger’s humid breath against his finger, and then, Estel slipped his tongue out just enough to wet the pad of Legolas’ thumb before he playfully nipped at it, causing the startled Prince to pull his hand away with a chuckle._

_Finally, the quietude was broken when the laegel teased his lover, “Are you that hungry? I’d rather keep my fingers, if you don’t mind, but I can find a servant to bring us breakfast, if you like.”_

_The Ranger reached down to grab the Wood-Elf’s hand, which he brought back to his mouth. He took the Prince’s thumb between his lips again, this time closing his teeth lightly around the end of it as if he were a mouse nibbling cheese. When Legolas laughed again, Estel let the Elf’s thumb fall free from his mouth though he still held tight to his hand. He told the Silvan, “You taste better than anything the kitchen could cook for us.”_

_Amused, for Aragorn always seemed to pay him the oddest compliments, Legolas sat up on the bed, which caused Estel to groan, for he had been hoping to keep the Prince abed with him for a while yet. “I am hungry,” he told the Ranger, rising to find something to eat. The day before, he and Estel had spent most of the daylight sparring in the fields and practicing at the archery range, which was where they would spend today, as well, so the Elf had worked up a healthy appetite after his well-deserved night’s rest._

_“Stay here,” Aragorn told the Silvan, halting him with a hand upon the robe that Legolas had intended to don. The Wood-Elf was entirely nude and the Ranger did not want him to dress, it seemed. “I will go.”_

_Knowing just what the Adan was thinking – that is, if he kept Legolas inside his room then he might have the chance to continue to enjoy the sight of the nude Elf and perhaps enjoy the Elf’s body, as well – the Prince nodded his agreement and settled back on the bed. Quickly, Estel threw on enough clothing to be respectable and was off to find the nearest servant, whom he would beg for breakfast to be brought to the Prince’s rooms. Normally, the two went down to the common room where many of the inhabitants of the Last Homely House ate together, but no one would be downstairs so early and neither Elf nor Adan wanted company just yet, anyway._

_His mind at ease and his sorrow at bay as it had been for the last two months that he’d been in Imladris, Legolas walked around his room, setting things to rights in absentminded enjoyment of just being alive and without the vociferations of grief that were wont to erupt from the marred flesh of his thigh. When he went into the bathing chambers to find water to splash his face clean, the Wood-Elf realized that he had never made use of the bath he’d had the Imladrian servants fill for him the night before. The Silvan went to the tub and peered inside, wherein clean, cool water stood as still as the predawn air. He had intended to take a bath the night before, after Estel had massaged his thigh, but the Prince had nearly fallen asleep before Aragorn had finished tending to his aching muscles. Since the water was clean, Legolas stepped into the bath to make use of it. He had no more than sat down in the frigid liquid before the door to his outer chamber opened. He knew that it was Estel who entered even before the Ranger softly called out his name, his voice tinged with mild worry that he did not find his Elven lover just where he’d left him._

_It took some convincing, but Estel joined him inside the tub. It was summer, the air warm even though the sun had yet to rise, but the bathwater was still cold for the Adan. Although the temperature of the water did not affect the Prince, he had to laugh at Estel when the human’s skin became covered in goose bumps in response to the algidity. Happily, playfully, the two lovers relaxed with Legolas reclining against the human to share his warmth. They washed each other’s hair, backs, and said almost nothing the whole time. For the Prince, Estel’s company was often marked by long periods of silence in which neither felt the need to fill the other’s ear with nonsense or chatter – it was one of many of the reasons that he had grown so attached to the human even before realizing that he loved him beyond mere friends, for there were few people in Legolas’ life with whom he could spend time without the other person feeling the need to indulge him because he was a Prince, or in the case of the twins, regale him with stories and silly arguments to amuse him. This was even truer now that his life had been interrupted by tragedy. To everyone but Estel, it seemed, Legolas’ silence portended the return of his grief, and so those around him tended to try to fill it with whatever came to mind rather than allow the Prince to dwell on his sorrow._

_When Estel’s skin began to wrinkle from the long soak in the tub, he stood to help the Ranger stand, and they took turns drying the other off with the last clean towel to be found. Legolas swung his robe over his shoulders, which earned him a disappointed scowl from Aragorn, who was not pleased to lose the sight of his lover’s nude body, though the Ranger had soon wrapped the towel around his waist for warmth. Without conferring, the two went back into the Elf’s bedchamber, where Anor had begun to rise and the room was filling with the first rays of the morning’s summery sun._

_Legolas reclined upon the messy bed with his legs over the edge as though sitting, clad only in his robe, his hair damp and in disarray, and his feet dangling just above the floor. Aragorn sprawled out beside him, the towel still around his waist, and just as wet as was the Silvan. As he had before, when first they had woken, Legolas rolled to one side, put his head upon his bent arm’s fist, and stared without abashment at his Adan lover. From just this action, Estel began to grin, for he had hoped that the Prince would resume reconnoitering his flesh as he had been doing earlier._

_With one finger, Legolas began tracing the beads of water upon Aragorn’s skin, pushing the droplets around, knocking them from the hair upon Estel’s torso, until he had managed to gather a miniscule puddle of bathwater in a slight hollow between the sculpted halves of Aragorn’s muscled chest._

_“Where is the servant?” he asked in mock irritation. “I am thirsty.” Giving his Ranger a fleeting smile, he bent his head down to lap at the tiny pool of liquid he’d created._

_Just this caused Estel to groan in anticipation, but the knock of the servant bearing their breakfast interrupted the two, and since the Ranger was now barely clothed, Legolas answered the door to collect their food. Bread that was warm and fresh from the ovens and a jar of honey were all that the human had asked for to break their fast, it seemed, other than the steaming pot of tea. With thanks, Legolas accepted the tray from the kind she-Elf who smiled warmly at him, as if privy to the intimate moment she had interrupted._

_He took the salver and set it upon the mantel – which was where most things in the room ended up, the Elf mused with an inner smile. The laegel suddenly had no desire to douse his bread in honey, for he could think of a better use for the ambrosial sweet. While Estel lay still upon the bed, watching him with unresolved lust in his silver eyes, the Prince took the jar of honey in hand and climbed back onto the bed, and then crawled so that he sat upon the human’s groin, which was already growing thick with desire. Legolas could feel this through his thin robe and the cloth of the towel, which was all that separated their lower bodies._

_Aragorn had said nothing but observed pruriently while Legolas gave him a mischievous grin. With the wooden dipper, Legolas drizzled the honey in a fine line across the human’s chest, ere he carefully nestled the pot into the blanket so that it would not tip over and onto the bed. At once, the laegel bent and began to lap away the sweet, thick liquid, leisurely swirling his tongue around the peaks of Estel’s chest, which hardened under this attention. With one hand, he held his hair back out of the mess he was making, but used the other to tug at the towel that hid the man’s navel and nether regions, pulling it out from underneath him and from around the Adan’s lower body. If Estel had any qualms about being covered in honey, he said nothing, though his chiseled face was softening as his lust grew and he began to turn his chest into the Elf’s machinations._

_“I thought you were thirsty,” the Ranger said, his hoarse voice becoming a quiet mewl when the Silvan’s teeth closed gently around one honeyed bud upon his torso._

_“Would you rather I pour the hot tea over you?” the laegel asked seriously, which as he had hoped earned him a snicker from Aragorn. The Ranger’s laughter was short-lived, though, for the Elf took the other of the man’s nipples in his mouth, treating this sticky bud of flesh the same as the other._

_Legolas scooted downwards, causing Estel to moan from the mere friction of his now nude lower half against the Silvan’s rear, until he was seated upon the Adan’s knees, instead. He took the pot of honey in hand again, and then took the wooden dipper from the pot to slide it along the top of Estel’s half-awakened shaft, which in itself caused the human to give a sharp inhale; but then, Estel grunted loudly when Legolas replaced the dipper with his tongue. Slowly, the Silvan Prince lathed the man’s shaft, his tongue only a light pressure upon Aragorn’s flesh, and he did not take the whole of the Adan’s manhood within his mouth just yet. Under him, Estel’s hips jerked in pleasurable discomfort, for his body sought to increase the sensation of his lover’s warm and moist mouth upon his shaft, although he tried to remain still to allow the laegel to enjoy his breakfast._

_“What of me, Greenleaf?” the Adan asked huskily. “I am hungered, also. You cannot eat all alone.”_

_But the Elf ignored this for he was not yet done. Again, he took up the pot, though this time when he dipped out the honey, he let it drizzle over the lust tautened sacs under the man’s sex as well as his now wholly engorged shaft. Before he resumed having his breakfast of honeyed Ranger, Legolas paused long enough to crawl upwards so that he could taste the man’s lips in a brief but thorough kiss, invading Estel’s mouth with his dulcet tongue, and then was sitting back upon the Adan’s knees once more before the lust-muddled human could respond. At once, he took one of the globes under Estel’s manhood into his mouth, pulled with his lips and the suction of his mouth at the honey and the soft skin there, then moved to the other and did the same to it, also, before he once again began to suckle the human’s shaft inside his mouth, swirling his tongue around the honey-covered length of it in the wanton, lewd manner of one who is truly aroused by giving his lover pleasure._

_As if tasting something especially delicious, which happened to be true at the moment, Legolas murmured playfully around the shaft inside his mouth, “Mmmmm.”_

_The vibrations of this incited Estel to pitch his hips forwards, off the mattress, and thus his manhood deeper into the Elf’s gullet; eagerly, Legolas accepted this, allowing the human to writhe and raise his hips to increase the pace of his pleasure for a few moments, until he sat back up. His pleasantly swollen lips winding into a smirk, the Prince finally remarked, “What of you? You can eat once I am full.”_

_So great was Estel’s need and so desirous was the Prince to be taken by his lover that the Wood-Elf was ready to forgo the usual preparations of his body. He slid the robe from off his shoulders, threw it to the couch nearby, and sat back for a moment. The human’s eyes roved the laegel’s lithe form as he made his plans how to pleasure his Elven lover in turn. The Ranger had not even had the chance to touch the Prince yet but Legolas was on the verge already. Like Estel, the Prince’s shaft was rigid and his body keen, but Legolas did not want to spill his seed without Estel inside him. Thinking that he would miss the chance to have his Ranger fill him should he wait any longer, the Wood-Elf crawled forward until he hovered over the human’s lower body and positioned himself as though to accept his lover’s length._

_But Aragorn would not chance hurting the Prince, despite however much he longed at that very moment to house his shaft inside the more than willing laegel. He pushed the Elf off him with belligerent, impatient desire, threw Legolas to his back, and then roughly pulled him by his thighs to the edge of the bed. Although surprised at the abrupt change in position and the man’s easy domination of him, Legolas found his lust rising to greater heights at the Ranger’s display of strength, for he had effortlessly moved Legolas around as if he was little more than a sack of flour. The Adan had done all this to have his taste of the Elf, not out of aggression, and since he trusted Aragorn completely, the Prince laid back and let the Ranger manhandle him as he wished._

_Estel dropped to his knees beside the bed with the Wood-Elf’s thighs in hand to spread them up towards the Prince’s chest but also wide open, exposing Legolas’ clandestine flesh in its entirety to his lustful gaze. For several long moments, the man just stared, but then, in one swoop, the Adan had his lover’s thickened shaft inside his mouth, his lips meeting the laegel’s navel. He draped the Silvan’s slender legs over his shoulders so that he could make use of his hands. With one hand, Aragorn caressed, abraded, and pulled at the Elf wherever he could reach – his chest, his belly, his sides – while with the other hand, he slid a finger between the widespread rounds of the laegel’s arse. Though his mouth was suctioning and engulfing the Silvan’s shaft lewdly, noisily, and his hands were rough in their quest to fill themselves of Legolas’ flesh, the finger that now teased his entrance was feather light and calm. Estel paused in his voracious imbibation of the Prince’s shaft only long enough to wet his thumb, which he then used to tease the entrance to Legolas’ body. Several times over the course of the next few minutes, Estel repeated this, each time stretching the Elf slightly further, wetting his thumb evermore to ease his eventual entrance, until Legolas was panting at the exertion to contain his climax. He was adamant to have the human inside him when he found his release._

_The human was just as eager to fill the Prince as the Prince was to be filled, and after a short while of readying Legolas’ opening and at the Elf’s insistence, Aragorn stood to see it accomplished. Estel slid his hand over his mouth, rubbing spittle onto it, and then slicked it and the seed that streamed from his shaft down its length. The Silvan kept his legs up and apart, offering his body to the human shamelessly. Because they had no oil – they had used it all last night for the Ranger’s massage of the Elf’s thigh – Estel pushed inside of Legolas extremely slowly, barely breaching the Prince, but the laegel was eager and did not care that the scant lubrication of Estel’s spittle was all they had. He felt only the slightest pain. Unwilling to force his way in deeper, Aragorn did not thrust into the Wood-Elf but merely jostled their bodies together with a deliberate agitation of his hips._

_“Greenleaf,” the human was whispering. They had no desire to wake anyone sleeping or draw the hushed valley’s attention to them, but the moaning laegel forgot about trying to be quiet when Estel changed the angle of his entrance into the Silvan’s body._

_He hooked his legs around the man’s waist to draw him nearer, but ever wary of hurting the Elf, Estel did not return the Prince’s attempt to increase his speed nor try to push his way farther into his Elven lover. Instead, he maintained his measured pace, which in the end brought Legolas more pleasure than had they lost themselves in the moment between them, for the laegel’s need grew to a summit higher than ever it had before. When Aragorn’s hand grasped Legolas’ leaking shaft to glide along the sleek skin out of sync with his intentionally moderate collision of his own shaft into the Elf’s innermost flesh, the Prince almost lost himself with just one stroke. However, he reached out for Estel, who used his free hand to hold onto his Elven lover’s hand._

_Realizing that in his ecstasy he had closed his eyes, Legolas opened them so that he could peer into the bewhiskered visage of his beloved. Aragorn was flushed and sweating, his once clean hair hanging damp with sweat around his brow. Before the Prince’s return to Rivendell, when the Elf and Ranger had made love the first few times, Estel had always appeared to be concerned and solemn, as if afraid of the consequences of their lovemaking for Legolas’ grieving faer. But much like the Elf now, the Ranger left all such thoughts behind when their bodies were joined as one, for together, enjoying each other’s flesh as they did each other’s company, neither could fathom that anything might come between them or the love they shared._

_“Greenleaf,” the Adan whispered again between sharp gulps of air._

_He could tell that Estel was close to finding his own release and knew that if he did not find his first, he would find it the moment that the human spilled his seed inside him. He would never have thought such a thing would be agreeable but to have inside him – literally – the proof of the pleasure he could bring his lover would bring Legolas to the edge and over it quicker than any trick Estel might try to incite the Wood-Elf’s release. In fact, just thinking of Aragorn spilling his seed inside him made Legolas’ belly tighten, the intimate muscles of his opening squeezed upon the human’s shaft, and when Estel’s hand upon the Prince’s shaft tightened in response to this, Legolas was abruptly pulled past the point of being able to prolong his pleasure by delaying his orgasm. With a nearly painful contraction of his legs and lower body that caused his back to arch and his head to bend backwards, he thrust his hips upwards and his shaft harshly inside the man’s encircling hand, while the hand onto which he held he gripped even more fiercely, and shot his seed across his own chest._

_His pleasure did not end there, however, as Estel was not yet finished. The human let go of both the Elf’s hand and his shaft, took hold of the Prince’s thighs again to spread them widely, and then found a different speed and angle, for his desire had mounted drastically at the erotic spectacle of the laegel’s completion. Still careful not to thrust too hard into the Prince’s unoiled opening, Aragorn’s pace became frantic and irregular. The continual barrage of the man’s shaft inside him made the Elf tremble at the unending pleasure, his thorough and loving submission of his body to the Ranger whom he trusted more than he had or did anyone else made his chest feel as if it would burst with adoration for the man, and the amatory, affectionate gaze of the human caused him to sob his breath. Had the human been Elf-kind, the two lovers’ souls would have been truly bonded, but in moments such as this, Legolas knew that his faer was joined permanently to the man regardless._

_Finally, when the Prince was sure that he could take no more of the penetrating euphoria lest he begin screaming from the intensity of it, Estel shuddered, collapsed forward until he caught himself with both hands upon the mattress, and with several rough, uncontrolled jerks of his hips forward and thus his shaft harder into the Prince, finally Estel filled Legolas with his seed._

_They remained like that for some time, each trying to catch their breath, but their eyes never leaving the other. The Elf’s arm shot out to push at the hair at the top of Aragorn’s head when it fell in front of the man’s face, barring Legolas’ view of his lover. Suddenly, the satisfied Ranger gave the satiated Elf a wicked grin, ere he leant forward even more. With another flash of his mischievous smile and reminiscent of how Legolas had licked the Ranger’s chest clean of honey, Estel licked the Prince’s chest clean of his seed, never once removing his still adamantine shaft from inside the Elf. The Silvan squirmed under the man’s tongue, which in turn caused Aragorn’s shaft to shift inside his body and caused him to writhe harder._

_“We’ve both had our breakfast, then,” the human laughed as he lapped the last spot of his lover’s seed from his chest, before crushing his mouth against the Elf’s mouth._

_The two lovers shared between them the salty taste of Legolas’ seed upon the Adan’s mouth and the lingering sweetness of the honey upon the Elf’s mouth, the two contrasting tastes complementing each other in a strange way – in a strange way similar to how the Elf and Ranger complemented the other, despite their differences. His shaft still inside the laegel and his lust only recommencing, the Adan rolled his hips forward, causing the Wood-Elf to gasp at the gratifying bombardment of Aragorn’s manhood inside his sensitive body. He laughed in surprise as his spent desire began to rise again along with Estel’s._

_Aragorn laughed along with the Prince when he asked teasingly, “Aren’t you full yet, Legolas?”_

_“…Legolas?” he heard again, though this time it sounded frantic, unlike Estel’s voice._

Slowly, the Elf’s consciousness returned from his exhausted slumber. Someone was calling to him, drawing him away from the pleasant dream he’d been having.

“Legolas?”


	2. Chapter 2

Earlier, it had seemed hopeless to think that he could ever determine in which way that Legolas and Kalin had gone. Elladan and Elrohir, along with the Silvan sentries, the Imladrian sentinels, and everyone in the valley who could be put to the task had been enlisted to query their kith about the laegel’s whereabouts. After several hours of questioning every Elf that he met, Aragorn had found someone who had seen the two Wood-Elves climbing up the carved stone steps leading up to the falls. From there and with the help of all those who had been doing the same as Estel – that is, searching for anyone who had seen Kalin and Legolas’ exit from Rivendell – the Ranger and his twin brothers had uncovered the general point of departure from the valley that the two Silvan had made, despite that Legolas and Kalin had backtracked in an attempt to hide the direction in which they’d travelled. By what seemed to be pure chance, in the outskirts of the valley, three Elflings had seen the two Wood-Elves as Kalin and Legolas had climbed through the trees overhead, for in childish mischief, the Elflings had been throwing rocks at a beehive in the upper branches of a tree. According to the Elflings, one of the Wood-Elves had waved at them; Aragorn later concluded that it must have been Kalin to wave at the young Elves. From that part of the forest where the Elflings said they saw the two Wood-Elves, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel had split up to seek sign of Legolas and Kalin.

The order for the Imladrian guards to search for Mithfindl had been countermanded but Estel was glad that they had found the trail of the Prince before their recall. None of the guards or Silvan hunted Mithfindl any longer, by Elrond’s edict. Before he had left the valley to search for his lover, Aragorn had been called back to the house to be present for the argument between Thranduil and Elrond. The Elf-King had requested for all of them to leave Legolas alone, to let the Prince find Mithfindl on his own, since it had been the laegel’s wish. At first, Elrond had not been pleased by this idea, for it had meant that the grieving Wood-Elf would be in the forest with only Kalin, searching for the very Noldorin Elf who had worsened Legolas’ grief and nearly broken his mind and body, but in the end, Thranduil had won the argument. The Elvenking had told Elrond that Legolas’ faer would never heal unless he found vengeance himself and after an argument that in the Ranger’s opinion had gone on for too long, Elrond had agreed to call off the search for Mithfindl and not start one for the Prince. Neither Glorfindel, Erestor, nor the twins had been pleased at this decision but they had all respected Thranduil’s desire to let the Wood-Elf Prince choose his own fate – although the twins had decided not to follow their father’s edict for his household, as had Estel. Despite the Elf-King’s wishes and continued rants, Elrond had not prohibited his sons to go looking for their friend. Even had his foster father forbidden him from seeking out the laegel, Estel would have found some way to do it regardless.

Thranduil had not explained all of his reasoning for giving Legolas this leeway but the human could well guess what it was. Legolas had been saved from his tormentors repeatedly – this time, the Silvan needed to do it himself. Whether he killed Mithfindl or brought him back to the Last Homely House for Elrond’s judgment did not matter to any of them, for what was important was that Legolas be the one to do it. This did not seem to be a terribly important distinction to Estel, who would rather the Wood-Elf Prince not to be in the same vicinity as Mithfindl ever again.

Now it was only Estel, Elrohir, and Elladan who searched the forest. Since they had all gone their separate ways, the human had no means of informing his brothers that he had found signs as to the direction Legolas and Kalin had gone.

Aragorn was a consummate tracker. He had the experience of years in the wilds with the Rangers, with his brothers, and with Legolas, and his life and the lives of others had often depended upon this ability. But in the end, it hadn’t been his talents as a woodsman or even luck that had led him in the direction in which his lover had fled – no, Kalin had been the one to tell him. He had already joked to himself that the next time he saw the Silvan sentry he might kiss him squarely on the mouth for what he was doing in providing clues for Estel to follow.

The first sign of the two Wood-Elves had been Kalin’s wave, though Estel did not consider this a sign until finding the second sign. A Silvan Elf in a tree – especially one of the Mirkwood sentries and his Prince – would never have been visible, had he desired not to be seen. Knowing that they would be sought by Estel and others, for either Kalin or Legolas to wave and show his face was odd.

It wasn’t until Estel found an arrow atop the branches of a small bush that the Ranger began to consider that the sentry wanted for him and his Prince to be found. Estel had carved and fashioned his own arrows since first he had picked up a bow to learn to use it; he had spotted the arrow easily enough and knew that it was his without having to inspect it. Since the arrow was still inside the guarded borders of the valley, the Ranger guessed that it had not been shot as a means of defense and expected that its being left had been more than mere chance. Moreover, Kalin had been the one to carry the Ranger’s quiver and bow, not Legolas, so it would have been Kalin to misplace the arrow had it been a simple mistake. But Estel had begun to hope that Kalin wanted them to be found, that he wanted Estel or the Silvan or Noldor to follow him and the Prince as a way to ascertain his Prince’s safety. Aragorn knew that Legolas would have to be unaware of what his sentry was doing, for the laegel would not have taken the precaution of doubling back to hide their tracks had he been willing to be followed.

Aragorn already respected Kalin greatly but now loved the sentry all the more because of his undertaking to aid the Ranger trail the Silvan. Kalin was not typically one to disobey his beloved Prince. That he had done so was wonderful for the human’s purposes but it also worried Estel. He considered that Legolas might be in very poor shape, his grief eating away at him and his life soon to end as he succumbed to his misery, and thus he thought that perhaps the sentry wanted to be found so that his Prince may be aided before his faer sundered from his rhaw. Estel was already fearful that the removal of the periapt would allow Legolas the impetus to die; he had not seen his lover since the stone’s removal and so could only guess at how much his Greenleaf suffered.

Since he’d had nothing else to go on, Aragorn had begun walking in the direction that the arrow pointed, which happened to be west of Imladris, towards the Trollshaws. If Mithfindl had wished to hide somewhere, the Trollshaws would do well to provide him with plenty of cover, for the wooded area was rife with many different cave systems and had access to water and game. And, of course, the Trolls that had once inhabited the region had mostly been eradicated or forced to the north to the Ettenmoors. The shaws were still a dangerous place but not as dangerous as it had once been. Furthermore, the arrow Estel had found had been beside the Bruinen, perpendicular to the watercourse, and since following the river west was one of the easiest ways to get close to the Trollshaws while staying off the Great East Road, it seemed a probable route that the Wood-Elves had chosen to travel.

His guess and Kalin’s clue had proven accurate. It had not been much longer in his walk west along the Loudwater that the Adan had found more signs of the Silvan Elves. While normally an Elf’s footprints were barely visible to even the most skilled tracker, especially those with no knowledge of the Elves, Aragorn had lived amongst the Elves for the better part of his life and he knew how to spot the tracks of an Elf. With torrential rain softening the ground and swelling the Bruinen, the mud along the ofttimes-bare shore was perfect for the creation of tracks. Most importantly, and encouraging his faith that Kalin was offering signs for him to follow, there were clear footprints along the bank of the Bruinen. The Silvan had left the trees after a while to make better time by not having to climb through the less dense forest along the riverside. Aragorn might have found the tracks of the two Wood-Elves anyway, but Kalin, it seemed, had intentionally left several deep footprints, as though he had dug his foot into the muddy ground on purpose.

Over the course of the last two days of his walking along the Bruinen, the Ranger had seen almost twenty overly stamped footprints that he could only assume were intentionally made. He had found three more arrows in the thicket and even discovered in the mud a crudely drawn arrow – all of which pointed west.

The Ranger was tired. Since waking the morning of the feast, he’d spent all his time worried for Legolas; he’d been trying to help the laegel by keeping watch over him or trying to find the culprit behind the Elf’s torment. The only full night of rest he’d had since the night of the feast was the night before Legolas absconded from the valley. _That was a good night,_ he thought to himself of how he and his Greenleaf had slept curled up like spoons in the drawer – that is, until the Ranger’s nightmare had woken him. _I wish that he and I were curled up in bed right now,_ he thought to Anor, who was beginning to set on another long day.

As he walked, the human stretched his arms over his head, feeling the painful pull of the wound upon his stomach. _So much has happened in so short a time. The King has not even been in the valley for a full week and already he has been poisoned unto insentience, awoken from that state, the Prince has been put under the sway of an imprecated stone, been released of it but not before he was tormented and despoilt, I have been stabbed and my throat nearly slit …_ The Adan’s mind boggled to think of all that had occurred. He had been helpless to stop most of it, although in the end it had been his piecing together of the details and information they’d gathered that had allowed the Prince to be freed of the periapt. As tired as he was, reminding himself of how quickly his and his lover’s lives had soured over the past several days hastened his exhausted step. Running through his mind were vile imaginings of what might be happening to Legolas right now. Since he didn’t know where Mithfindl was, Estel realized that his lover might already have found and killed Mithfindl, or conversely, he might be suffering under Mithfindl’s cruel hands this very moment had he and Kalin failed to eradicate the warrior.

 _He is with Kalin,_ the human assured himself when he felt that he might panic and begin running through the brush along the riverside. _Mithfindl would have to overpower both of them._ But his reassurances turned upon him as he began to logicize, _However, even if they are not yet in danger from Mithfindl, Kalin has already deemed that he and his Prince need to be found. What if he is so eager for them to be followed because he sees that Greenleaf’s grief is overwhelming him? What if he wants to be found because he fears that his Prince will die before they ever find Mithfindl?_

He had not stopped walking except to fill his water skin or relieve himself, had not rested or slept, and being on his feet in the pouring rain with only the most meager of meals was taking its toll upon him. Estel slowed his panicked trot long enough to pull up his shirt and the bandaging about his belly to inspect the wound from where Legolas had tried to stab him while under Mithfindl’s volition. The injury was in pitiable shape. Hot to his touch and as red as the setting sun in the distance beyond the storm clouds that lay overhead, the wound was beginning to ache worse than it had when first made. He was keeping it clean and changing the bandaging, but Estel could not keep the injury dry since the summer thunderstorms had not let up once thus far during his trek through the forest. He laid his hand upon the uncovered wound, where the gut stitches Elrond had made felt tight in the swollen skin.

 _It is feverish,_ the Ranger grumbled. _Wonderful. I will end up with a fever soon, as well._

The fact that he was now soon to grow ill from this injury only aggravated the human’s acerbic disposition even more. Meandering beneath his incessant apprehension for the Wood-Elf was suppressed resentment for Legolas’ betrayal, an anger that manifested in brief bouts of irritation before he reined it in by reminding himself that he had treated the laegel little better than Legolas had treated him by lying. He realized that it was foolish of him to be angry with the Prince for his deception when he had helped Thranduil enthrall Legolas by keeping the Prince in the dark concerning the periapt that his King had placed upon him, but Aragorn could not help himself but to feel such antagonism. He was tired of being worried for Legolas. He wanted the Elf to be healthy and well, but right now, it seemed to Estel that the Prince was purposely placing himself in danger to kill Mithfindl to keep the Adan safe, when all that Aragorn wanted was for the Silvan Prince to be safe.

Estel sighed bitterly. Over the last two days of walking, he’d had plenty of time to deplore his allowing the periapt to remain upon the Prince when he should have been the first to demand its removal. He’d been selfish to want Legolas to live when the Wood-Elf had wished to die. _And now I pay the price for it – or rather, Greenleaf pays the price for it, especially if I do not catch up to them ere they find Mithfindl. If only I had forced the stone’s removal shortly after we told him the truth of what happened or even the morning before I left to interrogate Faelthîr. At least then I would have been present, could have done what was possible to help him, and had he still wanted to hunt Mithfindl, we could have gone together._

Before he could begin berating himself again, Aragorn spotted the telltale fletching of an arrow where it laid atop a bush, its rain soaked, feathered end sticking out from the leaves so that the Ranger would find it effortlessly. At once, he went to it for inspection, and again, the human knew that the arrow was from his own quiver, left by Kalin to show him that he was still on the right path.

 _It still points west,_ he told himself as he peered along the rambling riverside. He could see little in the distance since the meandering Bruinen often curved and the shoreline was rife with brush, bush, and a close tree line, but somewhere up ahead, Estel hoped to find his Elven lover.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Legolas?”

From the sound of the worried voice calling to him, the Elf knew at once who was speaking.

_Kalin._

The Prince tried to open his eyes, to find his way to complete consciousness, but his grief stricken faer and fatigued body were slow to obey him. Instead, the Prince drifted slowly towards awareness, his mind still fixated upon the dream he’d been having of Estel, which was when he heard himself moan.

“Legolas?” his sentry said again, this time with evermore worry.

This woke him fully to the sounds of the rustle of leaves, the rush of water, and the constant, steady drip of the rain hitting the forest around him. His moaning had stopped, however, and the laegel wondered for a moment what was happening. The Prince opened his eyes and blinked them several times to clear away the vivid image of Estel leaning over him, the Ranger’s shaft still filling him while the human teasingly asked the Elf if he was full yet.

It had been a pleasant dream that was in truth a memory. The morning of the day that his father had arrived in the valley, the Elf and his human lover had ended up covered in honey after their bath and had needed a second bath. It was the last time that he and the Adan had shared their bodies. As the Elf tried to push the stifling sorrow that whelmed him at the loss of the cheer he’d accrued from the dream of his absent lover, Legolas also tried to hide his disappointment that it was his sentry crouched beside him rather than Estel, though it was foolish of him to have hoped that the human would suddenly be there. It was then that he realized he’d been moaning aloud and not just in his dream.

 _Sweet Eru, at least I woke before I dreamt what happened next, else I might have begun crying out Estel’s name,_ he told himself.

Before their second bath but after the first time they’d found release that morning, the two lovers had found that neither of them was sated, and so still hungry, the Elf and Ranger had found pleasure together again. The second time, the Wood-Elf had eventually pushed Aragorn onto his back on the bed, where he’d ridden the human slowly and gently to prolong the pleasure he gave his lover. In the end, Estel had found his completion before Legolas, and to repay the Elf for the immense pleasure he’d given the human, Estel had spent the better part of an hour lapping at the Silvan’s body, until Legolas had spent his seed twice in the human’s voracious mouth.

Although Elves in general and especially the Silvan Elves in particular were not ashamed of their bodies or the functions thereof, the Prince shifted his lower body to hide his nether regions when he realized that his shaft was beginning to fill with need because of his dream and his thinking about Estel and the last time they’d found pleasure together.

 _If he were here now,_ he wished, though he stopped himself before he could continue that thought. It would do no good to torment himself about Estel’s absence, since he was the reason the human was not here. Besides, after the laegel’s excruciation and defilement by Mithfindl, the Prince imagined that the Ranger would not soon agree to sharing their bodies again – not so soon and not for months, perhaps, until the Adan was assured of the Elf’s well-being. _That is, if I live to see Estel again._

Lost in his thoughts, Kalin’s Prince was ignoring him. When Legolas still said nothing but only looked over his sentry’s shoulder in remembrance of that wonderful sunrise, when he’d nothing more to worry over than whether they were spilling honey all over his bed sheets, Kalin tapped his Prince on the cheek.

“Legolas?” the sentry said softly. “You were moaning in your sleep. Are you well?”

Luckily, the laegel did not blush at realizing that his sentry had called his name not just to wake him but that he’d heard the moaning Legolas had been doing in response to his erotic reverie.

“I am fine, I am fine,” he answered Kalin and gave his fellow Silvan a smile.

He really had no desire to tell Kalin the subject of his reverie, but given that his sentry clearly thought from his moaning that his Prince had been dreaming about his being abused by the merchants or Mithfindl, and thus that his grief might be surfacing, Legolas considered wryly, _If I tell him that I was dreaming of licking honey off Estel, perhaps he will not question me over it very much._

However, surprisingly, Kalin returned his Prince’s smile and nodded, handing Legolas the skin of water that they shared between them, which the laegel drank from deeply. “I planned to let you rest until the sun set, but I thought you were having a nightmare. Still, the sun will set soon. Do you wish to wait until full dark before we leave? Or perchance you might want to rest for a while longer?”

They could have remained in the trees during the duration of their travel to their destination, but the Prince had decided that making good time was better than staying hidden, and so they had been following the riverbank, walking on the ground rather than through the woods running beside it. But now, the two Wood-Elves were in a large oak tree amidst the topmost branches. The laegel was curled up comfortably in the crook of where two large limbs met the trunk of the tree, with his sentry beside him to keep watch while his Prince slept.

 _I could sleep for hours more,_ he considered but knew, _although the longer we tarry, the more likely that Estel or the twins will catch up to us._ Even with no knowledge that Kalin was giving the human the clues needed to follow them, Legolas knew the Ranger well, and knew that Aragorn would not give up until he had found their trail. Estel, one of the twins, or someone else with the adept ability to track in the forest would eventually see the Wood-Elves’ footprints. To Legolas, it was a race to find Mithfindl first. He did not endeavor to avoid the detection of his friends and family for the duration of his journey, but just long enough to ensure that he was the one who slit Mithfindl’s throat.

“Legolas?” the sentry asked again, his smile fading and his perpetual worry for his Prince renewing at Legolas’ odd silence. Kalin placed a hand upon the younger Silvan’s shoulder, whose tunic was soaked through with rain, as was the sentry’s own, and asked with a hope that his Prince might agree, “Maybe you should rest a while longer?”

“No, no. Let us just be off,” the Prince said, adjusting his weapons about his person and sitting up straighter upon the branch. He had not removed his weapons to rest, nor had Kalin, so that they could leave at a moment’s notice if need be. “Unless you would care to take rest yourself, Kalin?” he offered, though he knew that Kalin would refuse it.

As expected, the sentry shook his head against the idea, saying as he tightened his borrowed quiver and checked his person to be sure that his daggers were accounted for, “I will take no rest until this is done, my Prince. I doubt I could sleep knowing that we are so close to Mithfindl, anyway.” His fellow Silvan picked up the skewer upon which the rabbit he’d cooked was still stuck and handed it to his Prince. Half the rabbit was gone already, having been eaten by the sentry while waiting for Legolas to wake, but the other half he gave to his Prince, telling him pointedly, as if warning the laegel that if he did not eat they would not go, “We will leave once you’ve eaten something. All we’ve had since the night before we left was a handful of berries.”

Dutifully, to both appease his sentry but also to keep up his strength, Legolas perfunctorily ate the rabbit given him, doing so under the watchful gaze of Kalin. Many times over the last week – such as when his fellow Silvan had thought him mad, when they had tied him to the bed and rebuked him for being unruly in his sorrowed anger, or when Kalin had repeatedly argued with his Prince about his choice of action or Estel’s guilt – Legolas had lamented that his sentries would never show the same deference to him as they did his father. Even now, Kalin fussed at his Prince as though the Prince were a child under his care.

A few nights ago, the sentry had told the laegel the story of when he had pledged his life to the Prince. That night and again this morning, it had occurred to Legolas that Kalin – who was the most loyal of all his sentries and over the last several months had become as close a friend as Legolas had – may not have shown the obsequiousness that a Prince would expect of his sentry, but he showed him something more valuable than reverential acquiescence to the Prince’s every whim or action. Kalin was willing to doubt his Prince, to question him, to set him to rights when he had strayed to wrong, but even still, the sentry would follow Legolas anywhere and do whatever was asked of him as long as it benefited Legolas. The Woodland Prince did not have Kalin’s unreserved submission to his will; he had Kalin’s love and respect, which Legolas treasured more than obedience.

 _Ada has Faidnil to pamper him, but Faidnil has never once kept his silence when he felt that my father was out of line or needed better advice than his councilors were giving him, though he only questions Ada in private. And my father has always taken Faidnil’s interference with good grace, even when he was deaf to all others._ With a congenial, fond smile for his sentry, the Wood-Elf Prince told himself, _I suppose that Kalin is my Faidnil. He has done all that Faidnil has done for Ada, even helping me to bathe and making certain that I eat. They are much alike. Faidnil is a groom and not a sentinel, but I know he would fight unto death to protect our King._

“Legolas?” the sentry asked questioningly. He took the bones of the rabbit left upon the spit and hid them on the branch above so that they left no evidence of their having stopped here. The small fire the sentry had made to cook the rabbit had been just below, but as with all other traces of their short stay in this dell along the Bruinen – to the Prince’s knowledge, at least – Kalin had left no obvious sign of the fire’s existence. “Although it brightens this dreary day to see you smiling,” Kalin commented as he began down the tree, “I must tell you that you looked almost like Lord Elladan or Lord Elrohir just then. It was nearly the same smile they give each other when plotting some prank.”

He laughed lightly as he followed his sentry down the tree trunk. Under him, Kalin watched while his hands were surreptitiously at ready to steady or catch his Prince if need be. Since he’d learnt to climb almost before he’d learnt to walk, Legolas was just as adept as was any Silvan in scaling trees. However, the sentry had grown accustomed to aiding his Prince because of his marred thigh, and so did as he had been doing for months now in ascertaining that the laegel remained steady on his feet.

Upon the ground once again, he clapped his sentry upon the back. Between his dreams of Estel, gaining some much needed sleep, and filling his empty belly, Legolas’ temperament was greatly improved for the nonce and he would enjoy it until his inescapable grief took hold of him again. Moreover, his mood was lightened by being outside amongst the trees and natural world rather than stuck inside the Last Homely House, as he had been for several days, and also by having a task ahead that he hoped would prove he was not the pathetic Prince all thought him to be.

He told Kalin, “Fear not. I was plotting nothing against you, but thanking Ilúvatar for blessing me with you as a friend.”

In response to Legolas’ words, Kalin began to grin, for it never ceased to please him to hear his Prince call him friend. And yet, something strange lay under the Silvan’s face; something that Legolas was not accustomed to seeing in his sentry; it was something that appeared guilty. In addition to the peculiar sentiment upon Kalin’s visage, the sentry also sported a gloomy bruise that ran from his temple, down his cheek. The Prince suddenly felt the need to apologize to his sentry for being the cause of this bruise upon seeing it now; the laegel felt compelled to say as he pointed at the contusion, “Does it hurt, Kalin? I am sorry, my friend. I did not wish to harm you.”

“It doesn’t hurt. Do not worry over it,” Kalin told him sincerely. The sentry was looking around them for anything that they might be leaving behind, though since they had brought very little with them, there was little to be forgotten. The smile left his sentry’s face when he turned back to his Prince to say, “You pulled your swing, did you not? You could have rendered me unconscious with your first blow, but you did not hit me as hard as you could have.”

“I did hesitate, yes,” he admitted. Legolas affixed their shared water skin to his quiver’s strap. “And I could not hit you a second time to finish what I had started.”

With all joviality forgotten, the older Wood-Elf lightly placed his hand upon the younger Silvan’s arm. “I am your servant before I am your friend. Because I want most that you remain safe, I wish that we were in the valley and that Glorfindel and his warriors were out here instead of us. But still, I would follow your commands regardless of whether I agree with them or not. I understand why you thought to incapacitate me, my Prince, but you need not exclude me from your thoughts or your plans out of fear that I will thwart them. I will follow you anywhere, if you ask it of me.”

Unknowingly, Kalin had reaffirmed what the Prince had only just been thinking about his faithful sentry. Kalin would have followed the laegel’s orders had Legolas given them before trying to render him unconscious, even though he would have tried and in fact did try to argue against the Prince’s desire to leave the valley alone to find Mithfindl. The laegel was still ashamed of himself for hitting his sentry to begin and Kalin’s words only deepened his disgrace, though it had not been his fellow Wood-Elf’s intent to do so. He could find nothing to say to this selfless promise and so only nodded at Kalin. Again, the sentry’s fair albeit bruised face was graced by a somewhat remorseful smile, before he turned to check that the embers of their secreted fire were truly dead.

As he began away, following the Bruinen as they had the last two days, Legolas watched the sun as it set off in the far west, where Anor was dipping below the horizon. _If it is guilt upon Kalin’s face, it is likely because he blames himself for not being able to protect me from Mithfindl. Or perhaps it is not guilt but his never-ending worry for me that darkens his cheer._

Of course, Legolas did not know the true cause behind Kalin’s remorse. What the Prince had earlier thought was absolutely true – Kalin was a faithful, loyal servant, he would gladly lay down his life to save his Prince’s life, and he knew now, after the last several months and from Legolas’ admission, that he was not just the Prince’s sentry but also his friend, and thus could offer his counsel to Legolas even if the laegel did not wish to hear it. And yet, in Kalin’s millennia of service – first as a guard, then as a guard assigned specifically to the Prince, and finally given the rank of being Legolas’ head guard – Kalin had never once defied Legolas as he was now doing. Yes, he had disagreed with his Prince, mildly argued with him, and even helped Ninan to subdue the Prince when Legolas had become irate days ago and they had feared he would hurt himself, but never had Kalin disobeyed an order outright, for never had he felt that he had reason to do so.

Now, however, was different. Legolas had told Kalin where they were going and told him that once they arrived, the Prince would confront Mithfindl while Kalin stayed behind as a failsafe, so that should Legolas die trying to find vengeance, the sentry could finish the task. At first, the laegel had been loath to tell Kalin exactly where it was that they were going out of fear that the sentry would find some way to travel on without him or haul him back to the valley and then go himself to retrieve or kill Mithfindl. Hours earlier, however, Legolas had given in and told Kalin exactly what Mithfindl had told him about where he would be waiting. His sentry had argued that should something happen to his Prince, Kalin would not know where to find the wayward Noldorin warrior. Although he felt well for now – or at least as well as could be expected given the circumstances – Legolas knew that Kalin was right. Should he fall to despair or to injury, it would be wise for Kalin to know Mithfindl’s whereabouts so that the sentry could end the Noldo if Legolas couldn’t, and he knew that his sentry would proceed without him should the worst happen and his Prince die before then. If Kalin knew where Mithfindl was, it would ensure Estel’s survival by ensuring Mithfindl’s demise. Legolas could only trust that Kalin would not truss him up and go kill the Noldo alone.

It was not Kalin’s intent to stop his Prince from finding peace of mind by killing his attacker. Kalin wanted this as much as did Legolas. Two days ago, standing in Estel’s room, the sentry had quickly decided that he would lead whoever searched for Legolas to their location. The sentry was taking no chances with his Prince’s life, especially since the hatred and lust for vengeance that fueled the Prince now would be spent once Mithfindl was killed – should Legolas live to accomplish this. After Mithfindl was dead, Legolas might return to his despair, and with the periapt removed, there was nothing to keep the Prince’s faer from fleeing. Above all else, save for helping his Prince to find and slay Mithfindl, Kalin wished to be able to return Legolas to the valley, to his King, to his friends, and to Estel. If his Prince died after that, then Kalin would be pleased to have been able to help his friend in this last task and to allow the Prince’s loved ones to be present for his end.

And yet, Kalin knew that the only one who might keep Legolas from dying of sorrow, the one who had once before brought the laegel back from the brink of abysmal grief, was Estel. The sentry wanted his Prince to find and kill Mithfindl, he wanted to be able to return him to the valley, but he also wanted Legolas to live. Having Estel find them– regardless of whether Legolas managed to find and slay Mithfindl – might just be what kept his Prince alive.

Legolas saw Kalin stop a moment and look behind them, but did not question why. Instead, he walked on, eager to end this, to end Mithfindl, and to end his life if it came to it. At a time when everyone else seemed to have betrayed the Prince and he felt he could trust only his sentry, he did not even consider that at that moment his sentry was betraying him.

Unbeknownst to his Prince, Kalin turned back to make certain that what he’d left behind could be seen by anyone who trailed them. The shaft of the Ranger’s arrow stuck out enough from inside the hollow of the trunk that its vanes were visible to garner attention, while the rest of the arrow held Kalin’s note safely inside the hollow and thus out of the rain.

He was contritely surprised that Legolas had not seen what he’d done, because Kalin had taken a chance that his Prince would not forgive, should he find out. The arrows and footprints he’d purposely left for Estel or the others might be explained away, but nothing would pacify his Prince’s anger should he have found what Kalin left this time. Kalin knew that eventually, should they live, Legolas would find out what his sentry had done, but for now, he cared more that his Prince survived than he cared to keep in his Prince’s good graces.

Days earlier, when Legolas had been climbing out of the human’s window in the Last Homely House, Kalin had taken a roll of parchment from Estel’s desk and stuffed it inside the human’s quiver. For the last two days, when Legolas had been inattentive, Kalin had done what he could to lead the Noldor or Ranger their way by leaving arrows behind, snapping branches of bushes that normally he would have passed without harm, and trailing his feet through mud that normally would not have shown any sign of his walking upon it.

But hours earlier, his Prince had confessed the exact location of the cave in which Mithfindl was to be waiting for him. Now that he knew precisely where they were headed, he had been able to leave explicit directions. While Legolas had been taking rest and Kalin had been cooking their rabbit dinner, the sentry had pricked the end of his finger with his dagger and then used the sharpened point of a twig to write a few simple words upon the scrap of parchment, before casting ash upon the blood to dry it. With one of the arrows from Estel’s quiver, the Wood-Elf had secured his short message to the inside of the hollow in the tree.

He knew that his trail of clues might all be for naught but the sentry could think of little else to do. He had not forgotten Legolas’ intimation that he intended to die after slaughtering Mithfindl nor had he forgotten that the younger Elf’s grief was festering within his faer, kept at bay only by his need to finish this self-appointed task of avenging himself. He betrayed his Prince by giving away their destination, Kalin knew, but told himself that if his Prince lived long enough to be angered at him for leading the Noldor, Silvan, or Ranger their way, then he would gladly take Legolas’ castigation if it meant that his Prince lived.


	3. Chapter 3

The rain had not ceased for a moment since the two Wood-Elves again began their journey. Puddles of water were forming in every low spot of the forest floor – the ground could not absorb the liquid as quickly as it was falling from the sky in lashing, drenching sheets. Although the densely leafed trees overhead provided them with some shelter from the rainstorm, it did little to keep them dry.

The Bruinen’s normally lazy murmur was now a steady grumble that would turn into a roar before the rainy season ended. The Prince had spent as much time as he could in Rivendell to be with his second family and so had experienced this short rainy season many times over. Legolas knew little of what made the weather as it was, but without fail, for a few weeks every year at the end of summer, the lands along the northern part of the Misty Mountain foothills would be drenched in precipitation. The storm clouds began near the Icebay of Forochel in the northwest, swept southeast along the mountain range, until eventually they petered out somewhere between Imladris and the Redhorn Pass, depending on how fast the wind carried the rainclouds before they spent all of their moisture. For the last few days, Legolas had taken note of how slowly the clouds seemed to be moving in the sky above, for it meant that the rain would continue to batter Imladris and the surrounding lands since the storm was not moving out quickly enough to spare them this utter dowsing. It depressed the Prince to think that he might be spending his last days on Arda without seeing the sun again.

In Mirkwood, were he home to see it, the laegel knew that the forest would be dark and dense and twisted, as it always was, but hidden amidst the deformed trees, murky streams, and reclusive wildlife were beautiful flowering vines that could be found nowhere else in Middle Earth. They bloomed at the end of summer. The Silvan used them to adorn his father’s halls in huge wreaths, for the Wood-Elves of Eryn Galen often presented their King gifts such as this being that they did not till the land, mine for gems or ore, or smith, and so gave their King their blessings by offering to him bits of that which they loved greatest – the Greenwood forest. In addition to the flowering vines, great mushrooms would be sprouting up under the twisted trees that the Silvan gathered for medicinal purposes, the likes of which were found elsewhere in Middle Earth, but nowhere in such abundance or such size. The fawns born that spring would be bounding around the great forest, the does would soon begin to wean them from the teat and teach them to graze the fragrant grasses, and the bucks would be fattening for the coming rut. This time of year, his father was usually concerned with acquiring the foodstuffs that his people needed to tide them over through the winter, for though the Silvan took care of themselves for the most part, their wise and beloved King was always sure to provide for his people when times were lean and threw many feasts over the course of the autumnal and winter months. Thranduil’s people never feared to starve. As miserly and as smitten with treasure as Thranduil could sometimes be, he never hesitated to spend his wealth for the sake of his people.

There was no steady rainy spell in Eryn Galen as there was here in Imladris, but thunderstorms were common this late in summer and the laegel loved to be in the woods of his homeland when the thunder rolled overhead. The Wood-Elves were wont to feast and drink and be merry, which was Legolas’ nature as well, and he missed his kin. As much as he loved his Minyatar’s valley, the Prince was feeling homesick, no small part of which was that this task he’d set himself upon was ending. Moreover, it seemed that Legolas had driven away, offended, betrayed, or been betrayed by everyone in Imladris save for Kalin.

He found himself thinking with a disparaging eye towards the gloomy, cloudy sky overhead, _If I die after Mithfindl dies, or while trying to kill Mithfindl, I regret that I die here without seeing home one last time._ He loved the woods of Imladris as much as he loved Elrond, his sons, and his people, but his sorrow and fear were fomenting Legolas’ eagerness to return to more familiar haunts.

Currently, the Prince and sentry were traversing a tract of land between the Bruinen and the Great East Road, a tract that eventuated into what was known as The Angle, where it was safer to travel than being on the road itself or moving through the shaw. They had walked half the night away and were already travelling parallel to the area known as the Trollshaws, with the shaw proper just over the Great East Road. Long had this hilly forest been abandoned by the Trolls that had once inhabited it, but evidence of their occupation of the area could still be found everywhere. Indeed, the two were close enough to the Trollshaws now that both Elves were independently considering taking to the trees once more, just to ensure that they did not encounter any unsavory characters or any lingering Torog.

They were close to where Mithfindl had claimed he would be waiting for Legolas. In only a few hours, they would cross the Great East Road and into the Trollshaws. It would all be over soon enough.

The laegel looked back to Kalin, who followed half a step behind and off to the side. Kalin was silent and brooding, his usual good cheer absent, but of course, given that he accompanied his Prince on what the sentry assumed was a suicidal undertaking, Kalin was hard-pressed to find any reason to be cheerful. The sentry looked as miserable as the Prince felt, though neither complained. Legolas’ clothes clung to him in all the wrong places, rainwater squelched inside his boots where it was beginning to cause the leather to rub his feet sore, his hair was plastered to his head, and with the help of the wind that whipped his soaked tresses around, it was also constantly in his eyes. Gone now was the optimism from his having dreamt of his and Estel’s carnal play; fraught now was the simple pleasure of being outside with a purpose to his likely short life.

Legolas placed one foot in front of him, millennia of experience of walking in the forest assuring him that he would step down upon the crackling twigs and soft clumps of grass that he could see with his keen eyes; however, hidden beneath this cover of sticks was a trap that had been made so long ago by the Trolls in that area that the decaying leaves from many winters had actually formed soil over the mesh of sticks, which had allowed grass to grow upon it, giving it the appearance of the forest floor around it. To the Prince, as he stepped down and then through this, it felt as if the ground were giving way under him, which in fact was exactly what happened.

The Wood-Elf raised his left foot, placing all his weight upon his right, which is when he stumbled forward, his right foot breaking through the layer of mulched growth and finding no purchase underneath; since his left foot was already in the air to step forward, it could not be used to push himself away from the imminent fall. Indeed, caught in his thoughts and so surprised by this was he, Legolas was given no time to react. In the scant moonlight cast from betwixt the rainclouds in the night sky and in the split second before he would have fallen into it, Legolas could see the ravine before him. His foot had dislodged the entire cover, causing a crash of brittle, old sticks, leaves, and the bright green grasses to tumble into the hole. This ravine spanned twice his body length to his sides and twice his body length forward. Through the tumbling debris, the laegel could see the bottom of the ravine – stuck inside the ground and sharpened at the ends that pointed towards the sky were limbs varying in width, some as thick as three or four of his fingers, some as thin as one. The Trolls had set this trap to catch game – they were not picky about what they ate and anything that fell within would have been comestible to them. To Legolas, in that moment that he saw his fate, it looked as if he were falling into an open mouth full of sharp and numerous teeth.

Kalin had been walking just a step behind his Prince but had somehow managed to step on a steady entwinement of the friable limbs – that is, until Legolas’ fragile section gave way under him. Kalin thought first of his beloved Prince; wordlessly, the sentry reached out to push his Prince back, keeping Legolas from falling forward into the pit, before trying to bound onto steady ground himself. The younger Wood-Elf felt his sentry’s hand harshly hit him in the chest before the Prince fell back, his teeth jarring together with a painful click, blood spurting into his mouth as he bit his lip and tongue, and his rear hitting the ground just at the edge of the pit, his legs dangling over the sides, and his flailing arms just managing to grasp the grass beside him before he slid into the pit regardless. Had he been a further step forward, Legolas would have fallen into it despite his sentry’s attempt to save him.

 _Kalin,_ the laegel thought in frantic worry, his hand automatically reaching out for his sentry, to keep the faithful older Elf from falling into the trap from which he had just saved his Prince, but Legolas grabbed only air and could only watch with horror as Kalin dropped from view.

The trap had been made so long ago that the same fragility that had caused the trap to break, despite their lightweight Elven tread, also afflicted the stakes inside the ravine, such that most of the sharpened limbs broke under Kalin’s body rather than piercing him. However, one of the limbs stood fast; that single stake was all that it took. One of the thinner, sharpened branches did not break but impaled Kalin’s right side. Before he could see what had happened to Kalin, he knew that his fellow Silvan was injured, for Kalin let loose a short-lived yelp of surprised pain that was cut off abruptly.

_Kalin._

Legolas scrambled to his knees, taking care not to tumble over the edge by accident. Peering down below at his sentry, he felt certain that he would find his fellow Silvan dead, a stake in his throat or through his heart. Indeed, Legolas soon saw that his sentry was injured. Blood painted the sharp stake from its tip to where it disappeared inside Kalin’s flesh, having entered the Elf’s back, on his side, and having left his front, thus skewering the sentry upon it.

The Prince climbed to his feet with haste, pushed his rain soaked hair from his face, and prepared to jump into the Troll-made ravine to help his sentry, only to halt upon Kalin calling out to him, “Wait, Legolas!” Despite his current condition, Kalin asked gruffly, “Are you hurt, my Prince?”

Had not the situation been so dire, the Prince might have laughed. His sentry was impaled upon a branch at the bottom of a ravine but asked him if he was well, instead of worrying over his own injury. With more care than he had first intended and rather than jumping into the ravine, the Prince slid down its side, holding onto the edge until his feet touched the bottom. It was almost deeper than he was tall.

“Are you hurt?” the sentry asked again, as his Prince had yet to reply to him. When he was not answered immediately, Kalin repeated forcefully, though his voice was little more than a vehement, guttural groan, “Legolas. Are you hurt?”

“Ai Ilúvatar, Kalin, be quiet. I am fine,” he fussed at the sentry. He kicked several more limbs to break them from the ground so that he could kneel beside his fellow Elf. “You are the one injured. Be still,” he ordered when the Silvan tried to rise to help his Prince when Legolas nearly tripped over the broken end of a rotted stake.

The Prince first gathered Aragorn’s bow from the pit and threw it to the ground above, then unfastened the belts that held the quiver to Kalin’s torso so that it would not impede him when it came time to carry his sentry. As uncomfortable as it made him to be at the bottom of the ravine without weapons, he took off his own quiver and set it and his bow on the ground above them, as well, so that neither would be spoilt during what would be an arduous task of getting Kalin out of the hole, assuming that the Wood-Elf’s body was not so broken that he could not be moved. The Prince refused to consider this possibility just yet, however.

“How bad is it?” Kalin asked his Prince, who now knelt beside him. Legolas could see that the sentry had a hand under him, holding himself aloft from the bottom of the ravine, though his arm shook at the effort.

Legolas gingerly inspected the wooden stake on which Kalin was impaled. The thin branch, its tip sharp and blackened as if from fire but now rubicund with gore, had struck Kalin’s back, slid along his ribcage, and exited at an angle from his front. Without removing the sentry’s tunic, the Prince could not truly tell how badly the wound was but assured Kalin, “Not bad at all, my friend. I am certain that it hurts, but I think it only went through the flesh and muscle of your side, having glanced off your ribs. Or at least, I believe it to be so. If I can get you out of here, I can say for certain.”

“Sweet Eru.” Kalin’s wide, blue eyes were beginning to glaze over, though he hadn’t yet lost much blood. “Don’t say _if_ you can get me out of here. Get me off this stake and out of this hole. I am not dying in a ravine,” the sentry joked with a dark and mirthless laugh. Blood bubbled out of his mouth as he cackled. The blood was not from the injury caused by the stake but from where he’d somehow hit his face while falling. The lathered red that poured from his nose was running down the front of his mouth and chin.

He returned his sentry’s laugh in the hopes of comforting Kalin by showing him that there was little to be worried over, though in truth, Legolas was panicked. They were too far from Imladris for him to carry Kalin back with any speed, they were too far from any town or village for him to find aid, and he knew little of the art of healing. If Kalin’s wound were serious, the Wood-Elf would die before Legolas could find him help.

Although no healer himself, the laegel had learnt enough over his many years to know that it was unwise just to pull the stake free from his friend until they had the ability to sew or cauterize the wound shut. The branch upon which Kalin had fallen was made such that it tapered at the top and grew wider at the bottom. Luckily for Kalin, he had caught himself with his hands soon enough that though he could not stop the stake from piercing him, he had kept from sliding into the wider base of the stick. But the sentry’s arms were giving out under the strain of keeping himself from sliding farther down the stake and thus from widening the already serious wound. If he did not remove the Silvan from the piercing hickory branch, Kalin might fall further onto it and do worse damage to himself.

He warned his fellow Wood-Elf to prepare him for the imminent pain, “I am going to lift you to see if I can break it at its base, but if I cannot do that easily, I will have to lift you off it completely.”

“Just do it quickly.” Kalin was now trembling, his voice quavering along with the arm that held him from the bottom of the ravine.

“I am sorry,” he told the sentry without thinking, apologizing for not only Kalin’s current condition, which he felt was his fault for having allowed Kalin to come along and for his sentry having sacrificed himself to ensure his Prince did not fall into the ravine, but also apologizing for the agony that he would need to inflict upon the Silvan to aid him. “I am sorry,” he said again, as he began to lift his fellow Wood-Elf.

For his part, Kalin did not scream or cry out, though from the huffs and gasps he gave when his Prince slowly lifted him up, the sentry was on the brink of it. Before he could try to break the stake from underneath Kalin, the stake broke on its own. The suddenness of this almost caused Legolas’ hold to loosen and his sentry to fall backwards, which would have succeeded in driving the branch further into the Elf’s body anyway, but the Prince managed to retain his hold and steady Kalin. With a strangled moan, Kalin was able to place his knees under him while Legolas supported him, and then, the sentry was kneeling upon the floor of the ravine, the sharpened limb still spearing his flesh. Kalin swayed where he knelt, by accident hitting the front of the stake against the earthen wall of the ravine, which caused it to jar inside his rent flesh. At this, Kalin did yelp loudly.

“Careful,” he uselessly instructed his sentry. Legolas tried to grab hold of his fellow Wood-Elf’s shoulders to keep the sentry’s swaying body from falling over as he repeated, “Be careful.”

“Just pull it out. I will not be able to climb from this hole otherwise,” Kalin decided. Firmly, he ordered his Prince, his face pale where it was not smeared in blood, “Do it, Legolas. Pull it free. Quickly, before I pass out.”

Legolas dithered a moment, his stomach roiling at the thought of causing his sentry any more pain. _He is right, though. I cannot carry him out of here and keep that limb from rending his side in two._

Without warning so that the sentry would not tense or pull away before the job was done, Legolas reached behind Kalin, grabbed the back of the stake, and tugged it out as well as he could. He tried to pull it straight out so as not to tear the sentry’s flesh any more than it already was. Again, Kalin cried out, though this time he cursed his Prince in brash, loud irritation, “Damn you, Legolas. You could have warned me.”

He had never been cursed at by Kalin before; in fact, Kalin had never raised his voice at the Woodland Prince before, but given the circumstances, Legolas could only snicker in surprise. “I am sorry,” he said again, his apology heartfelt but going unheard, since Kalin was too busy swearing at him.

The sentry had curled to the side, resting his head and the shoulder of his unhurt side against the ravine’s earthen wall. “You are forgiven if you get me out of here.”

At once, Legolas assessed how best to remove his friend from the ravine, but his choice was made for him when Kalin pulled himself into standing and said, “Just throw me up there. I do not want to be down here a second longer.”

The Prince locked his fingers together to form a step of sorts, let Kalin place one foot upon it, and then heaved his sentry upwards. With another loud cry of agony, the Silvan sentry’s upper half was laid out over the edge of the ravine, his hands digging into the mud and grass of the forest’s floor, until Legolas stood and began to push the sentry’s lower half, sliding Kalin along the ground until he was in no danger of falling back into the hole. With a quick glance to make sure that neither of them had dropped anything of import, since he did not wish to climb back down into this hellhole, Legolas scrambled up the slippery, loose dirt of the edge, until he was laid out on the grass next to Kalin. He could understand Kalin’s desire to be free of the pit, for he felt the same relief to be out, even though neither of them had been in any greater danger while inside it.

Beside him, Kalin was breathing raggedly. He rolled over onto his uninjured side. The rain was already washing away the blood that was soaking through the sentry’s clothing. Now that the stake was removed, Legolas could see from the ripped hole in the back of the Silvan’s tunic that he had not lied. While painful and debilitating, the branch had done just as Legolas had said, as he had hoped – it had slid along the sentry’s ribcage instead of piercing between his ribs, and thus had avoided impaling his viscera. The Prince wasted no more time. He pulled off his own tunic and shirt before he began tearing his shirt into strips.

“Can you sit, my friend?” he asked of Kalin. In the dim light of the obscured moon overhead, the sentry nodded faintly and writhed to rise on his own. Legolas dropped his shirt so that he could help Kalin rather than watch his sentry struggle.

He began removing Kalin’s tunic and undershirt so that he could see the injury done to his sentry. The hard rain was sluicing away the blood before Legolas could tell how badly his sentry bled. “At least we won’t need to fetch water to clean it,” he jested wryly, which earned him a snigger from Kalin.

“How bad is it?” the sentry asked again. Kalin already appeared steadier and sounded better now that he was out of the gulch and no longer impaled. “It feels like I was skewered by a hot fire poker.”

He crawled around his fellow Wood-Elf to see his back before returning to kneel before Kalin. “You aren’t that fortunate. If it had been a fire poker, it would have cauterized the wound and wouldn’t be bleeding. But from the looks of it, I think it only went through muscle. The stake did not splinter, thankfully, and the wound is clean of debris or mud.”

Calmed to hear this, despite that the wound was still serious, Kalin began to fret over his Prince, as if doing so would take his mind off his own injury. He asked although Legolas had already answered this question, “Are you sure you are unhurt?”

Having taken up his own shirt once more, Legolas finished tearing it into strips before he wadded part of the cloth to the front and back of Kalin’s body to cover the wounds on either side. He grabbed Kalin’s hand and silently instructed him to hold the makeshift bandage on the wound upon his front while Legolas wrapped longer strips around the Silvan to keep it all in place. “I am fine. Scared witless, perhaps, at seeing you lying at the bottom of that gulley with a stake through you, but unhurt.”

Echoing what Legolas had thought of the ravine as he had hurtled into it, Kalin spoke quietly, as if to himself rather than his Prince, “It looked like we were falling into the mouth of a monster. I thought I would lose you,” the sentry said, his eyes once more wide and vacant of the dark humor that he’d displayed moments ago.

“And instead I nearly lost you, Kalin.”

Tucking in the end of the strip of cloth, Legolas adjusted the bandage to ensure that it would not come unwrapped. The strips of shirt were wound securely around Kalin, though they were drenched with rain and already red with his blood. For now, this was the most Legolas could do. It was too wet to build a fire to try to cauterize the injury and besides, the Prince did not relish the thought of burning the sentry’s wound closed. He picked up Kalin’s shirt and helped thread the Silvan’s arms through it to replace it upon him before doing the same with the sentry’s tunic.

“What would you have had me do? Leap to my own safety and let you fall to your death? Instead of my side it could have been your chest or neck,” the sentry complained gruffly. Kalin pushed his leaf-ridden hair off his dirty forehead, then wiped at the blood that covered the lower half of his face. “I made an oath to protect you, even if I am protecting you from a hundred year old Troll trap that you foolishly walked into.”

Legolas had never heard his sentry so irritable or so willing to snipe at his Prince. He was helpless but to laugh, though it was mostly in relief that his sentry felt well enough to hassle him. “I am sorry, you are right,” he told Kalin. As he stood, the Prince looked around him to find someplace to take his fellow Silvan where he could be comfortable. With nothing but the wet grass and mud underfoot, the gulch out of which they’d just climbed, and Troll caves to the north of them, they had only one viable option – the trees. He continued as he gathered his weapons off the ground and replaced them upon his person, “I should be thanking you for saving my foolish self. Although, to be fair, you walked right into the trap, as well.”

Again, the laegel could not help but to snicker when he saw Kalin blush, for the sentry only just realized that he’d insulted his Prince. Legolas pulled on his tunic and tucked the remnants of his shirt inside Estel’s quiver, should it be needed later for more bandaging.

“Come,” he said as he bent to aid Kalin into standing. “Let us get somewhere safer.”

With Legolas’ help and a flurry of curses that would have made a whoremonger cringe, Kalin climbed into a birch tree nearby, stopping when his efforts pulled at his wound too much, and relying upon his Prince to keep him from falling. When the two Wood-Elves were ensconced in the upper branches of the birch with Kalin settled upon a wide limb where he could easily lie down to sleep if needed, Legolas buckled Estel’s quiver and bow on a smaller branch next to Kalin, laid the sentry’s sword within reach on the same branch, and then sat at the end of the limb upon which Kalin reclined.

Now that Kalin was as cared for as possible, the Prince realized he had a choice. He could take his sentry back to the valley and abandon his hunt for Mithfindl, or he could continue, leaving his sentry to fend for himself. _If I die in trying to kill Mithfindl, I will not be able to return for him. Kalin might die here, alone in the forest,_ the Prince ruminated as he fiddled under Kalin’s shirt to adjust the improvised bandage. _He will not be able to follow me. If Mithfindl were to see him, he would currently be too easy of a target. I am not allowing Kalin to die for my revenge, especially not when he is already injured for this cause._

“Go, Legolas,” the sentry implored of him, knowing just over what his Prince was pondering. Kalin’s skin was growing pale and ashen, though it did not seem that his wound was bleeding any more than before and he had not lost a great deal of blood. “I will be fine. Go find Mithfindl, kill him, and then you can take me back to the valley,” he soothed his Prince with an encouraging smile.

When from the mere look upon Legolas’ face it became clear to the sentry that his Prince vacillated about whether to agree, Kalin tried to argue, “I will be safe here in the trees. You are only a few hours away from him now. Do what you must and then return to me. Promise me. That is all I need,” the sentry pled. “Just promise me that you will return to me alive and well, and I will gladly wait here for you. I would that I could go with you,” he lamented, saying just as Legolas had been thinking, “but I will slow you down and divert your attention.”

He could not quit his search for Mithfindl. Should he end his endeavor and try to take Kalin back to Imladris, the Prince would likely die before Kalin, as his hate and bloodlust were the only things keeping him from giving in to his sorrow. With a heavy heart and another burden added to his already weighted shoulders, Legolas finally nodded his sopping head, promising his fellow Elf, “I swear to you, Kalin.”

“No, Legolas.” In agitation, the sentry moved on the limb upon which he sat, his face screwing up into a grimace as he tried to make himself comfortable. Shifting his back against the trunk, Kalin reiterated, “Say it. Say you will live. Say you will come back to me unharmed. And whether I live or die in this tree, promise me that you will return to the valley once you have completed your task.”

At that point, Legolas would have promised his friend anything to ease the worry on the older Wood-Elf’s face. He knew why Kalin was not pacified. Legolas did not give his word lightly, as no Prince should. Very few were the times that he had not kept his promises, the most recent of which was when he had left Mirkwood for Imladris, against his father’s wishes, and thereby had broken the promise that he had made to his King to end his relationship with Estel. If he gave his word to Kalin to return to him alive and unscathed, then no sorrow, injury, or circumstance could bar him from keeping that promise so long as he drew breath.

Legolas did not hesitate to give Kalin the guarantee he desired. “I will find Mithfindl, I will kill him if I can, and I will try my best not to get killed or hurt,” he said with a wry grin for his ailing sentry, who smiled in return at the amended promise. “We will return to the Last Homely House, Kalin. And once there, I will personally see to it that Elladan and Elrohir are your nursemaids until that wound heals.”

With a groan, Kalin chuckled a time or two until the pain this caused made him groan again. “With a promise like that, I may rather stay in the tree,” he jested, which caused Legolas to laugh in return.

“Wait here,” he joked to Kalin, who of course could not have climbed down from the tree by himself anyway.

 _It took him nearly being killed to get his good humor back,_ the Prince thought as he dropped from the tree. As with many of his brethren who were accustomed to losing their kith in the never-ending battle against the Darkness in the Mirkwood, Kalin was laughing off his fear; matters of life and death were often treated lightly by the Silvan – not out of disdain for the tragedy of the loss of an Elven life, but because it lessened the fear of losing it. _I hope his humor lasts. He may need it if he is forced to return to Imladris on his own._

Legolas first hurried to the nearby river to fill the waterskin. He drank from it heavily until he had nearly drained it and then filled it up again so that he could leave it with Kalin. As he walked back, the Prince scanned the weeds and plants around him for comestible roots, berries, or nuts. He found no berries or nuts, but he did find several plants that he could take to Kalin. A small oxbow lake had formed alongside the river in time long past, when the Bruinen had changed its course slightly. In this marshy, stagnant water grew reedmace. The laegel gathered as many stalks as he could reach, as quickly as he could, to take back to Kalin. _If nothing else, he will not starve while he waits,_ the Prince sighed to himself, tucking the stalks under his arms. Mithfindl was several hours away, but so was sunrise. He stopped again to grab a few clumps of chickweed, before he took off at a jog back to the tree in which he’d left Kalin, thinking, _I need to leave soon. If I hurry, I can return to Kalin before sunset of this coming night, at least,_ he planned, never realizing that he would not be returning to aid his sentry.

With the practice of someone who spent almost as much time in the trees as he did on land, Legolas scaled the birch one-handedly, for the stalks of reedmace, chickweed, and freshly filled and full waterskin were in the other hand. Elves were hardier than their mortal kin were. They did not usually suffer from infection of wounds, as did humans and other beings. And yet, even though none of Kalin’s vital organs was pierced by the stake and the blood had ceased to pour from his wounds, the Wood-Elf’s well-being was not certain. He would be safe in the tree; as a Silvan Elf, it was highly unlikely that he would fall from it, even should he sleep, for it was second nature to Kalin and his kith to sleep amidst the leaves. Unless a Troll or Orc found Kalin, or a human with a mind to rob or kill the Silvan sentry, then Kalin would be protected from ordinary predators like wild dogs or such. Even reasoning all this out once more in his head, Legolas worried. He stood on the branch below where Kalin rested and watched his friend’s chest lurch from the discomfort of breathing.

 _I have to return for him. He will live, although he will sit here in pain, unless I am fool enough to die while trying to kill Mithfindl. If I die, I have doomed him to die, as well._ As he pulled himself to sit beside Kalin once more, the sentry opened his eyes. _He has been hiding how much it hurts him,_ Legolas knew. The grimace that Kalin had worn upon his face before realizing that his Prince approached was now replaced by a carefully insouciant grin.

Continuing his farce, Kalin teased when he saw what his Prince had brought him, “Reedmace and chickweed? I gave you a rabbit for my turn finding dinner and you bring me weeds?”

The laegel took the waterskin that they shared between them, pressed it into Kalin’s hands, and then took out the plants he’d gathered for food. It wasn’t much, but it would tide the sentry over should his return to Kalin be postponed or should the laegel die. The Prince could not accept the possibility of Kalin’s death. He had known his sentry and been watched over by Kalin for his entire life – quite literally – and although it was Kalin’s calling to die for his Prince if he could, Legolas would not have it so if he could do anything about it.

“Sorry, but your snoring scared off all the game,” the laegel riposted in return, though his heart was not in it. Kalin was being jovial in part because he did not want his Prince distracted by worry for him, yes, but it was not working at all.

_If I were a good person, I would not be abandoning my sentry in the woods while he is injured. I would not be setting off to satisfy my own bloodlust while leaving Kalin to sit here hoping that I return so that he may live._

The Wood-Elf Prince thought aloud, perched upon the branch next to Kalin, “It is no more than three hours run from here to the pond by which Mithfindl intended to wait for me, but let us say four hours. Four hours there, four hours back. I should return to you before this day’s nightfall, if all goes according to plan.”

They had not yet spoken of what Legolas intended when meeting up with Mithfindl. Now that he was to be left behind, Kalin wanted to know exactly what his Prince would do to ensure that Mithfindl ended up at the end of his Prince’s blade, rather than the opposite. He took a long drag off the waterskin, which made Legolas worry that the sentry would run out of water before he returned, before he asked, “What do you plan? You cannot just walk right up to him. He may slay you upon sight.

But the Silvan Prince shook his head in negation of Kalin’s assumptions. “No, I have told you. He wishes to continue to torture me. If I can convince him that I am still under the sway of the stone, then I can get close enough to him to drive my sword through his heart. It is not a complicated plan,” he admitted, for he had not thought far beyond reaching Mithfindl. “I think he will be easy to persuade. He will see me alone, walking up to him without my blade or bow drawn, he will think I have killed Estel as he asked,” the laegel explained, though he faltered momentarily as a shiver ran through him at the thought of his having killed Estel, an act that he almost saw accomplished according to Mithfindl’s wishes, “and that I have fled the valley to return to him, just as he asked. I need only to convince him long enough to get him within reach. He will be so eager to see me suffer that I think he will easily fall for it.”

They sat together as the night slowly wore on, each of them lost in thought, with Kalin worrying that his Prince might fail in killing the Noldo and thus become Mithfindl’s prey again and Legolas worrying the same except he feared that should that happen, he would be leaving Kalin to fend for himself. Their companionable silence was broken every few seconds by one of Kalin’s harsh breaths. When the sentry inhaled sharply upon moving his side too quickly, the Prince’s ambitions were dashed and he told Kalin fervently, “I cannot do this. I cannot leave you here. We will go back to Imladris.”

“No. I will be fine. Legolas –” the older Wood-Elf began but then stopped.

Kalin twisted his back a little to settle it better against the rough, peeling bark of the birch tree, fiddled with the reedmace and chickweed so that he could tuck it into the pocket of his tunic, and then adjusted the waterskin until he had it secured on his belt. The Prince could see that his sentry wished to say something to him. He waited patiently for Kalin to say his piece until his agitation to leave began to rise. If they were going back to Imladris, he would just as soon start now.

“I will find you something hardier to eat while you rest, then we will head back to the valley,” he told Kalin before he made as though to climb down the tree.

“Wait, Legolas,” Kalin started a second time, stopping yet again. The Wood-Elf was biting his lips. “No. We are not going back to the valley. Do not worry about me.”

With a pained frown, Kalin dropped his gaze so that he was staring at his hands, which were relatively clean, though he then turned his eyes to the sleeves of Legolas’ tunic, which were stained in the sentry’s blood. Over the past week, Kalin’s hands had often been smirched with his Prince’s life essence.

“Legolas…” the sentry began but stopped a third time. When the Prince thought that his friend would not continue, Kalin finally repeated to his Prince with a shamed face, “Do not worry over me. Estel or Lords Elladan or Elrohir will find me. They cannot be more than a day behind.”

So certain did Kalin sound that Legolas did not want to argue against this, but he did not want Kalin to agree to wait for him to return if Kalin mistakenly thought that he would eventually be aided by the Ranger or twins. Legolas supposed there was a very significant chance that he would not return from his task of killing Mithfindl, but by Legolas’ thinking, since to his knowledge his friends and lover had no idea where the two Wood-Elves had gone, he thought there was no chance that the twins or Ranger would manage to find them before Kalin died of thirst or hunger, lest he take his chances trying to walk back to Imladris himself.

Before he thought of a kind way to explain this to Kalin, the Silvan was saying, “Do not hate me, my Prince. Do not be angry with me.”

“Why would I be angered –” he began.

“I have not been honest with you,” Kalin interrupted, his bravery to admit his betrayal of his Prince flagging, and thereby his desire to have done with his admission mounting before his courage left him entirely. With another sigh, the older Wood-Elf gave his Prince a fleeting glance before he turned his attention back to the laegel’s bloodstained tunic sleeves. “Legolas, when we left the valley, I made certain that we were seen in the trees. I made certain that our point of exit from the valley could be discerned, by showing myself to some Elflings near the river who were throwing stones at a beehive and also giving away our presence to two she-Elves who were picking berries.”

At first, Legolas did not comprehend what this meant. Confused, he frowned and opened his mouth to question Kalin, but the sentry was not yet done.

“That is not all. Before we left the trees and took to ground to travel, when you had stopped to fill the waterskin, I placed one of Estel’s arrows in the bushes, near to where the Elflings were, and pointed its arrowhead west. It would be hard to miss it, especially should Estel or one of the twins see it, for the arrow is Estel’s and made like the Rangers fashion their arrows, rather than like the Imladrian Elves make theirs. I intended that as soon as Elrond’s sons and people began their search for you, for us, it would only be a matter of time before they would have learnt from the Elflings or she-Elves from where we left the valley. From the arrow, they would know that we travelled west.”

As Kalin had feared, infuriation swelled inside the Prince, as raucous and loud as the rain engorged river close by. Legolas sat up straighter, his shoulders went back, and his body went completely still. Kalin did not need his Prince to utter nary a livid word for him to know that he had enraged his liege.

But Kalin was not finished. He wanted to end his confession lest he lose his mettle. “As we have travelled, intentionally I have left footprints to be found, broken small limbs, and laid more arrows upon the tops of bushes along our path. In fact,” the shamefaced sentry admitted, “I have nearly discarded half of Estel’s entire quiver, with each arrow pointing west, so that we might be found.”

Rather than rant at his wounded sentry, Legolas set his mind to figuring out how this might advantage and disadvantage him. _Even if Estel or someone else has found these clues and is following, they might have misread or misunderstood the first arrow, it might have taken a while for them to find the Elflings who saw us, or they might be so far behind that I may still reach Mithfindl before anyone shows up. I still have time to find Mithfindl before they find me to try to stop me._

“I am sorry, my Prince,” Kalin tried to explain. “I wanted only for someone to trail us so that after you found your vengeance, Estel or the twins, Elrond or your father – whoever seeks us – would be close behind to help you. Or should you become injured, I wanted someone to be on our path so that you would have aid. I know that I have deceived you, but I thought only of how to keep you safe.”

With all his will, the grieving Prince quashed his fury for Kalin. His sentry had just saved his life, after all, and was stuck in this tree, awaiting the help that he’d led to them, because he’d been skewered by a stake that very well could be lodged inside Legolas, instead. _It doesn’t matter,_ he told himself, dropping his head so that Kalin would not see the uncharacteristic tears of irritation that welled in his eyes, _I still have time to finish this before they find us, if they find us._

“When you were resting hours ago, before sunset,” Kalin continued with evermore hesitation, which made the Prince wonder what else his once faithful sentry could have done to hamper his liege, “I left another arrow along with a note, telling exactly where you told me that Mithfindl laid in wait for you.”

Kalin had only the morning before convinced him into telling where he was to meet Mithfindl. Trusting his sentry completely, he had offered the information, never once thinking that Kalin wanted to know so that he could use what he had learnt to pass it along to anyone who might follow. He could not imagine how this could be any worse. Unable to look at Kalin, lest his wounded sentry see the mistrust in his eyes, Legolas considered, _So what if they do follow? They may find Kalin before I return, which could save his life, and if I do not return at all, then I can hope that they will soon find him, should his longshot of a plan to lead them to us actually have worked._

As if privy to his Prince’s thoughts – which Kalin often seemed to be, since he had dedicated his life to serving his Prince in more ways than merely guarding him – the sentry pled, “You promised me, Legolas. You promised that you would return to me, that we would go back to the valley together. I know that I have deceived you and I have no right to compel you to keep this oath when I have broken my own to you, but you must keep this promise. Do what you must to Mithfindl, then come back to me, Legolas, and we will go to the valley together.”

Finally, he looked at Kalin. Before this past year, Legolas had never seen Kalin weep, but repeatedly he had seen his sentry weep over the last several months. “I would not abandon you in the forest. Not even if I were angry with you,” Legolas whispered hoarsely. “But I am not angered,” he prevaricated. He held out his hand to take Kalin’s and held it tight against his chest for a moment as he said, “You have always done what you believed to be best for me. I have given you cause to doubt that I know what is best for myself these past months, but more so over these past few days. I cannot hold it against you that you tried to bring aid.”

His well-intentioned lie must have convinced the sentry, for Kalin sighed with relief. Only that day, Kalin had said that he was Legolas’ servant before he was his friend; and now, the guilt that the sentry had shown while saying this was explained, for in giving Estel and the others clues as to their destination, Kalin was thwarting his Prince’s intentions, as he had promised never to do. He thought he held a tight rein upon the grief that was ever at ready to pull him under, but learning of Kalin’s deception caused Legolas’ sorrow to manifest once more. Until now, Kalin was the only one who had yet to betray him. The constancy of his sentry was the rock upon which he’d leant during the past few days. Everyone had all treated the Prince as if he were mad or irrational, except for Kalin.

Yet, now Kalin showed his true feelings. He thought of his Prince as unreasonable, as weak, as pathetic, and now Legolas knew it. The lancing pain that shot across the laegel’s chest was so familiar that the Wood-Elf no longer reacted to it.

“They are following us. Someone will come along soon enough, my Prince, and they will find me. I will send them onwards to help you, because by then you will have given Mithfindl his just dues.” The sentry was smiling sadly, his gratitude that Legolas said that he was not upset with him plain in Kalin’s fair, blood covered face. The smile slipped away and Kalin showed the determination and robust hatred that Legolas felt himself when thinking of Mithfindl. “Go do what you must and do not worry over me. Find your vengeance, Legolas.”

In the end, he would be choosing to allay his fear for Estel, his friends, and perhaps even his father’s safety, rather than choosing to aid Kalin. Even with the sentry’s blessing and ostensible desire for Legolas to choose to find Mithfindl, the Prince knew that he was abandoning his friend. That Kalin had betrayed him by revealing their course through the woods held no sway in his decision – Legolas still loved his sentry, just as he still loved Estel, despite that the Ranger had allowed one of the imprecated charms to remain upon the laegel.

The Prince nodded. He let go of Kalin’s hand, but only after giving it a final squeeze. A portent of doom crawled along him, beginning with his shanks, snaking up his lower back, and then slithering across his shoulders, until with a shake of his head – as if he had seen or heard something distasteful – the laegel dropped from the branch, catching himself with one hand upon the limb below, and then dropped again in the same manner until he was on the muddy forest floor.

Before he began away, he called up to his sentry, speaking to him one final time, and of course not realizing that he would never be able to keep the promise he made in saying, “We will go to the valley together, once this is done. I promise you.”

With a last look upwards to the high branch of the tree upon which his injured sentry reclined, the laegel prayed to Ilúvatar, _Please do not let this be the end of Kalin. Do not let him die._ Kalin said nothing from above, although Legolas thought that he saw a pale hand wave at him. _Let his plan of having Estel or the twins follow us work, so that they can take Kalin to the valley. But please,_ he prayed, _give me the time to see Mithfindl ended ere they find me._

Legolas walked a few steps more before his agitation spurred him onwards; he began north, sprinting headlong through the forest, hoping that his speed and long strides might carry him over another Troll trap, should he have the misfortune to happen across one, and hoping even more that he could keep his oath to Kalin and return to the sentry before Kalin’s injury sapped the life from him.

Turmoil, dark and slinking, seeped through his mind, leached into his flesh, and stiffened his bones. He loved all his family and friends, knew that they loved him, but he know also knew that they trusted him not a whit, and now he realized that he could not trust any of them, either.

The Prince was truly alone now.


	4. Chapter 4

This overcast summer’s day, the clouds that poured rain obscured most of Anor’s illumination. Thunder clapped in the far distance, towards the mountains. North of the East West Road, set back in the hills of the Trollshaws, sat a clear water pond that had no name. When the Trollshaws were still inhabited by Trolls, the pond had been a significant source of fish and water for the Trolls. The pond may have had no name but it was an unmistakable landmark in that area, for it was in the middle of a collection of caverns that had housed a community of Trolls – or at least, as much as a community as Trolls could be said to have. Even now, years after nearly every Troll had been driven to the Ettenmoors or killed, only the brave, unknowing, or stupid travelled through that part of the wooded hills, for most were still wary that a few Trolls might linger.

Legolas knew this pond well. Among the younger Elves of Imladris, traversing the Trollshaws was almost a rite of passage, as if to prove oneself an adult by facing the supposed danger. In Mirkwood, there was no need for such rites, as there was real danger in the tainted woods, but when little more than an Elfling, Legolas had gone with Elladan and Elrohir on a trek through the Trollshaws to look at the remnants of the Troll’s habitats, the caves and bones, and the old, crumbling stone towers and husks of buildings left behind after the kingdom of Rhuduar fell to ruin. They had encountered no trouble and earned the admiration of the other young Elves of the valley by showing their bravery. They had also earned a cross lecture from Elrond for their foolhardiness.

From the moment that he crossed the road, Legolas did not stop his measured gait. He knew that somewhere in the forest around him Mithfindl might be watching. If his plan were to work, he did not want to give the Noldo indication that he was anything but under the spell of the periapt. And so, the Prince did not stop or pause to gather himself, did not stray from his path or allow any of the myriad, turbulent emotions that sped through his heart to show upon his face, but walked into the clearing openly, no weapons drawn and without visible fear. He tried to pretend that he was still under the influence of the periapt, though he was not entirely sure how he had acted differently while wearing the stone, for he had noticed no alteration in his demeanor while wearing it except for the headaches, belief in Mithfindl’s misconceptions, and sorrow from the excruciation that he’d endured. He believed that Mithfindl would want him alive to torment him, rather than to kill him on sight, based on the instructions that the Noldo had given him in the pleasance several days earlier. He had told Kalin this, had predicated his entire plan upon it, and should he be wrong, it would likely end in his sudden death. From anywhere around him, Mithfindl might spring forth, arrow fixed upon bowstring, and strike the laegel down before Legolas knew what hit him.

Yet, he knew that this would be a better fate than to fail at killing Mithfindl – in the pleasance days ago, Mithfindl had also explained in detail the many ways in which he desired to torment the laegel. The Wood-Elf would die before he let Mithfindl take him again. Even still, he could not let his fear of this potential outcome show upon his face.

A nearly inaudible snap of a twig close to him focused his acute attention to his side; he slowed his walking, the fear mounting in his gut, for he was not eager to die until he knew that Mithfindl would be dying, as well. From behind a thicket of twisted, dead bramble, Mithfindl stood. The Prince’s step hesitated for a moment as Mithfindl approached him with his arrow notched upon his bowstring. The hatred and deadliness in the Noldo’s face made the Wood-Elf consider that he had been wrong. He thought, _He will kill me where I stand. Kalin will suffer in the forest until Estel or the twins find him, and if they do not find him, he might die. Mithfindl will kill me and flee, and then Estel will still be in danger of being victim to Mithfindl’s vengeance._

“Are you alone?” the Noldo called out to him, his gaze flitting to the wooded area behind the Prince.

Legolas only stood there expectantly, a carefully vague and confused expression feigned upon his face, in the faint hope that his plan could be salvaged. Slowly, the Noldo walked to the Wood-Elf, his bow lowering as he noted that Legolas did not react to the threat of death.

Having gained no answer, Mithfindl asked again, “Are you alone?”

“I’m alone,” he replied, frowning in false consternation as he admitted in half-truth, “They will be following me eventually, but I am alone.”

The deadly glower upon Mithfindl’s face softened into a smirk, before he laughed quietly and grinned widely. The Noldo came closer, step by step, his eyes still searching for hidden danger behind the Silvan, though he seemed to accept almost immediately that the Prince was not lying. With a flick of his head, the Noldo tossed one water soaked, silver braid from his face.

“I feared you were dead, sweet Princeling,” Mithfindl mocked him, his hand relaxing enough that whereas before his bowstring had been taut and at ready to let his arrow fly, it was now loose. “But here you stand, almost completely healed from the many beautiful bruises made upon you. Tell me,” he inquired as he came close enough that the Prince would be able to strike his bow to the side, should he have wished to try to evade being shot with it. Mithfindl dropped his bow off to the leaf littered ground but simultaneously pulled out his dagger with his other hand, just in case the Prince was not as submissive as he assumed. The Noldo continued in fervent desire to have his answers and begin his celebration, “Tell me how you healed so quickly, whore.”

“Lord Elrond used vilya to heal me,” the Prince said without deceit. He had the distinct impression that Mithfindl would know if he were mendacious and if he thought that Legolas lied, he might make use of his dagger before Legolas could pull his long knife. Staring blankly out towards the small pond, where the dim illumination of the dawning sun glinted off the still water, the Wood-Elf frowned as though trying to gather the memory and words to explicate it, before saying, “My father convinced Elrond to use the ring to heal me rather than watch me suffer.”

Mithfindl gave a snort. He had not intended to beat Legolas nearly to death but had lost his temper and good sense, and thus had nearly killed his plaything in the pleasance days prior. It seemed to the Prince that Mithfindl had not truly anticipated that the Silvan would ever appear, for he now seemed jubilantly astonished that Legolas lived and had come to him.

The Noldo held his dagger towards the Prince as he drew ever nearer. “And your disgusting Ranger? Is he dead?”

Again, the laegel answered without lying, though it took all of his willpower to squash the anger that arose from the Noldo’s reminder of how Legolas had almost killed his lover, “I stabbed him in the belly. And then I fled for here.”

“Good.” Mithfindl laughed loudly, merrily at this answer. “I bet he didn’t know what to think to have your dagger in his gut.”

Though the Prince had not actually told the Noldo that Estel was dead, Mithfindl seemed to think that this must be so. In different circumstances, such a laugh as the one Mithfindl gave might have been welcoming and warm, but the Noldo laughed in elation to hear that Estel was dead, and so the sound caused a chill to run down Legolas’ back.

As if keeping up the farce that Mithfindl had begun that night when he’d tied, beaten, and forced himself upon the Prince while using the periapt and poppy to convince Legolas that it had been Estel all the while, Mithfindl assured the Silvan, growing another step closer as he said in a conspiratorial murmur, “And he deserved it, didn’t he? For what he did to you. That foul human deserved to die for beating you, for tying you… for fucking you like you were naught but his whore.”

Legolas nodded without enthusiasm, since he could not agree out loud, lest his lie give him away. His calm façade nearly faltered yet again when the Noldo was near enough to reach out for him, which was exactly what Mithfindl did. The Silvan intended to try to trick Mithfindl such that the Noldo would let down his guard and give the Prince the opportunity to use the Noldo’s lapse against him, but when Mithfindl placed his free hand upon the Silvan, Legolas knew that if he did not act soon he would evince by recoiling from the Noldo that he wore the imprecated stone no longer. With a grunt, Mithfindl slid his hand down the Prince’s back; when the Noldo’s errant and unwanted consideration focused upon fondling the laegel’s rear, Legolas could barely maintain his contrived insouciance.

 _Just a moment more,_ he guaranteed himself. He kept his gaze forward, his body as relaxed as he could make it. This was the end of it, he felt certain. Since the removal of the stone, his mind had been inundated with hatred for Mithfindl until it filled his entire being, until it was as raging and turbulent as the rain swollen Bruinen. His own existence hinged upon the end of Mithfindl’s existence. To keep his vision clear of impediment, the Wood-Elf slowly raised his hand to push his hair behind his ears from where it had fallen free from the perpetual beating of the rain upon his head and face. _Let him think I am enthralled still… I need wait only until he drops his guard. I will not be hasty and risk him living beyond today._

“I am glad you came to me, little Princeling,” the Noldo said with another menacing laugh, promising, “I have so many pleasant things planned for you. You are finely made; your hair is like delicately spun webs of Anor’s radiance, your face so tantalizing. Your skin is soft and so pale and looks magnificent smeared in blood and spotted with bruises,” the Noldorin warrior admired with his slightly mad smile. Mithfindl licked his lips as he told the laegel, “And when helplessly skewered upon my cock, you snivel so lewdly, so woefully – I long to listen to your pathetic whimpers, to see the tears trailing down your dirty, bruised face, my pet. Your cries of agony are more euphonious than any song.”

The Noldo could have been speaking to a lover, so sweet did he sound, though his words were hardly lover’s talk. Mithfindl’s hand grabbed one globe of the Prince’s flesh in a harsh, viselike hold, his fingers bruisingly wedged between the Wood-Elf’s arse as if seeking out the entrance located between the firm halves, though Legolas’ clothing kept Mithfindl from his objective. Mithfindl groaned softly, lasciviously, his fingers worming their way between the halves of Legolas’ rear, as if he could pierce through the fabric to pierce the laegel with them. The warrior took the Wood-Elf’s bow from his lax fingers and tossed the weapon towards the mouth of the closest cave.

“You will be mine now,” he promised as the other of the Noldo’s hands, which held the dagger still, slipped across the front of the Prince’s navel to stroke the Wood-Elf’s flaccid shaft through the cloth of his trousers. “And now we have the time for it. Now I can give you what you truly merit. No human deserves a whore as beautiful as you. But I deserve you as recompense for what the Ranger has done. It pleases me beyond end to think of how he suffered in knowing that you believed him to be your attacker, of his dying by your hand. I only wish I could have seen it,” Mithfindl wistfully exclaimed.

The dagger Mithfindl held was too close to his belly. This was no Adan, Orc, or other being that the Prince would be likely to overcome easily – Mithfindl was just as quick as was Legolas and perhaps more so, since the Prince was still injured, even if not as badly as before his Minyatar used vilya upon him. He could not assume that he would be able to outmaneuver Mithfindl, either. Although both Elves, Mithfindl was Noldorin in lineage of both his mother and father, such that he was tall, broad, and thickly muscled – as were most of the Noldor. However, though his father was Sindarin and thus just as tall, broad, and muscled as any Noldo, in physical stature, Legolas had taken mostly after his mother, and so thus had inherited many of her Silvan traits. Compared to Mithfindl, the Prince was shorter, slighter, and leaner in muscle. In archery or swordsmanship, Legolas would be of equal or greater match, but in hand-to-hand combat, he might not have the advantage unless he could surprise Mithfindl. He had come into the clearing without weapon drawn and faking his enthrallment so that he could draw the Noldo out from hiding – now he needed only to find the opportunity to attack.

 _Wait,_ he tried to advise himself. _Let him think that he can do as he will and eventually he will put away his dagger._

The Noldo stepped even closer until his chest was pressed against Legolas’ side, his hands still fondling the Wood-Elf below his waist in both front and back. Mithfindl’s breath grew heavy; the hand upon the Wood-Elf’s rear loosened to slide up his lower back, under his tunic, until it found the waist of the laegel’s trousers. Deftly, Mithfindl delved under the fabric, while the hand upon Legolas’ genitalia tightened painfully. The flat of the dagger that the Noldo held was pressed into the Wood-Elf’s shaft, which caused the Prince to tense regardless of his intention of pretend submission.

Mithfindl was eyeing the Silvan’s mouth when he promised, “Faelthîr told me so many interesting details of what you enjoyed with the merchants from Lake-town. I have so many ideas. What shall we try first?” he asked the Prince conversationally. “I think I’d like to feel your mouth upon my cock. I think I’d like to watch you struggle to breathe while I force it down your throat,” Mithfindl told him, his grip constricting over the Prince’s unresponsive sex until Legolas’ eyes began to water. “I have no wine bottle, but I’m sure we can find something suitable to use to see how far you can stretch,” he lustily moaned to the Silvan, invoking the memory of Kane saying something similar while he had Legolas tied over a wine barrel in the back of his shop’s storeroom.

Unchecked revulsion swept over the Prince, his intent to lure the Noldo into complacency utterly forgotten. He could not stand there anymore while his rapist molested him again; he could not endure any longer while Mithfindl goaded him with new torment. If he were going to kill Mithfindl, it would have to be now; if he were to die trying, then he would die before Mithfindl could touch him anymore.

Legolas took two small, shambling steps to remove himself from the Noldo’s hold ere Mithfindl seized his arm to keep him still. Surprised at the laegel’s sudden movement, the Noldo’s hand slipped free from the Wood-Elf’s trousers, where it had been growing ever closer to his clandestine flesh, while Mithfindl’s other hand was easily batted away from his genitals with the movement of Silvan’s body when he lurched forward, though it soon returned to hold the dagger at the Prince’s belly. When Mithfindl loosed the Silvan’s arm and reached for the periapt that he believed still hidden within the Wood-Elf’s hair, Legolas knew that the farce was over for good. At this point, he would have to take his chance, even with the Noldo’s dagger dangerously close to his belly.

Before the Noldo could discover that the Wood-Elf wore the imprecated charm no longer, Legolas thrust his head out to his side, his forehead catching Mithfindl across his crookedly healed nose. The laegel heard a satisfying snap as the bone broke again, causing the Noldo to gasp and step away in disbelief that his subdued quarry was passive no more. Mithfindl had not had the chance to dose the laegel with the poppy tincture but he had believed that Legolas was as malleable and broken in spirit as he had been with the periapt upon him – he had not expected the Wood-Elf to fight back at all, or so it appeared to Legolas, for Mithfindl was taken completely aback.

Immediately, Legolas reached for his long knife, which was belted at his waist as it normally was, only to fumble for the hilt. During his molestation of the laegel, Mithfindl had unintentionally twisted the Silvan’s belt so that the scabbard was tangled under the Prince’s long tunic. It took him only a few seconds longer than it typically would have to remove his long knife from its sheath, but in those few seconds, Mithfindl realized the folly of his assumptions. His face dripping blood from his freshly broken nose, the Noldo lunged at the Wood-Elf, catching him around the waist and knocking him to the ground, falling atop Legolas just as the Prince managed to pull his long knife free. Before he could bring it up and perchance stab the Noldo as he fell upon him, Mithfindl’s weight drove all the air from the Wood-Elf’s lungs in a loud whoosh, while his body curled in upon itself when the Noldo’s knees landed in the Silvan’s belly. The force of the blow made the Prince’s hand release the hilt of his long knife and it clattered to the rocky ground beside him, in reach but momentarily forgotten as his vision went dark from pain and lack of air. His quiver ground into his back; he could hear the snap of the wooden shafts as some of the arrows broke under his and Mithfindl’s weight.

Mithfindl had not dropped his own dagger but he held it in hand as if he’d forgotten it, preferring instead to use his fist to pummel the Silvan across the face. When Legolas’ head whipped to the side under this onslaught, the Noldo grabbed the Prince’s hair and held his dagger to the Wood-Elf’s throat with the clear, wordless threat – if the laegel did not stop struggling, he would slit the Prince’s throat. This did not stop Legolas, though; he fumbled on the ground to his side to find his long knife, his fingertips sliding along the haft of the weapon but unable to close around it, for seeing what his prey was doing and with his dagger still at the Prince’s throat, Mithfindl let go of Legolas’ hair and grabbed for the Wood-Elf’s arm, instead. With Legolas’ wrist in hand, he lifted and then slammed the laegel’s limb to the rocky ground, which caused his hand to loosen its hold, the long knife to fall from his tenuous grasp, and the dagger at his throat to slip across his neck in a slick, shallow wound that began to pour blood at once. It was only superficial, but the next time he might not be as fortunate and his task failed with his untimely demise. But despite the injury to his neck and that Mithfindl was pressing the dagger down upon his throat once more, Legolas did not cease. The fear of death would not keep him from trying to kill Mithfindl first.

Legolas began to writhe under Mithfindl’s weight, the Noldo’s knees digging painfully into his belly and navel. Because he wanted the Prince alive for his perverted, tortuous pleasure, Mithfindl gave up trying to subdue the Wood-Elf with the dagger, for he did not truly want to kill the laegel just yet. The Noldorin warrior instead renewed his hold of the Silvan’s hair and began to beat Legolas’ head against the rocky ground underneath him. Despite not being seriously injured any longer, not being under the influence of the poppy milk, and having no one’s life but his own to worry for at the moment, Legolas could not seem to gain any ground in their tussle. He fought violently, his own fists landing upon Mithfindl’s head and chest, his legs working to try to twist and buck beneath the Noldo to jounce him off, but the repeated blows to his head, his inability to breathe, and his terror to be touched by the Noldo worked against him. Mithfindl wanted the laegel alive, but he did not care in what state he had the Prince for his demented pleasure, and so gave no leniency, nor did he react to the many strikes made against his face and chest, though the Wood-Elf had beaten the Noldo almost as thoroughly as Mithfindl had Legolas. Eventually, when the Prince felt that his skull was surely cracked, the laegel’s struggling weakened, his arms fell limply to his sides, and though he remained sentient, he could neither see nor react to what was occurring.

All that the Prince knew was the castigating vociferation of his grief borne madness, for as he felt Mithfindl rise from atop him and grab his wrists, the lingering voice of the scar told Legolas, _You must truly desire this. You could not even draw your knife, so pathetic are you._

As he had in the pleasance days ago, Mithfindl dragged Legolas out of the open area around the pond. By instinct, though he had rather he would just die than live to see the fruition of Mithfindl’s promises to him, the laegel’s body gasped in air now that Mithfindl’s weight was removed from his belly and chest, and his vision finally began to clear. The dank and reeking smell that assaulted his nose intimated to Legolas that he was now inside of one of the many caves that opened around the pond.

 _Let him have you. Let him use you as he pleases._ The laegel’s flagging consciousness was fixated upon this castigation. He could feel the warmth of his blood seeping through his hair; he could feel the smear of blood upon his throat. _You came back to him because you desire to be Mithfindl’s plaything._

“Come now, sweet whore,” the Noldo said, his voice echoing through the cavern and rousing the Prince, who had been so intent upon listening to the erased scar’s voice that he had nearly overlooked that the true danger was not in his mind but standing beside him. “You almost made me slit your throat,” the Noldo fussed at the laegel, his fingers tracing the shallow cut along Legolas’ neck. With his dagger, Mithfindl cut the belts that held the Wood-Elf’s quiver and then yanked it from under him. At some point during his being dragged into the cave, when the laegel had been on the brink of unconsciousness, the Noldo had pulled free the arrows within, such that the Prince was entirely weaponless now. “No point in your dying yet, is there? Not while I still have the chance to enjoy you, anyway.”

The promise of more defilement seized the Prince’s mind. Legolas argued against the voice and against Mithfindl’s words, _No. I will kill him. I can kill him. I will tear his throat out with my teeth if I must._

As Mithfindl knelt down beside him, rope in hand, the Wood-Elf knew that if he did not act right this moment, the Noldo would incapacitate him. His ears were ringing and his mind was dark, his lungs still starved for air, and he was unable to focus his vision because while Mithfindl had dragged him into the cave, blood from his head and dirt from the ground had been sluiced by the rain into his eyes. Somehow, though, the Wood-Elf found the wherewithal to roll away from the Noldo, whose hands were out to grab hold of him, to tie him, to begin his excruciation of the Wood-Elf. Legolas crawled to his knees and tried to scramble away from Mithfindl, his hands fumbling around the cave’s floor for a weapon of some sort, but the Noldo was quick to act. Mithfindl grabbed hold of Legolas’ ankles and yanked, pulling the Wood-Elf off his hands and knees. The Prince’s face smacked hideously against the floor of the cave.

 _They should never have healed you,_ the scar told him. _They should have let you die in your bed, in the valley. You are too weak to live._

“Oh no, you are going nowhere. I am not finished with our game,” Mithfindl said with a snide laugh. Since the Prince was on his belly already, Mithfindl merely pulled the laegel’s arms behind him and began to wind rope around Legolas’ wrists before tying it forcefully, but the Noldo did not stop there. Mithfindl wound more rope around the laegel’s forearms, ensuring that the Prince’s arms were immobilized in the most unbearably painful way possible. “Indeed, we have not even started playing, have we, whore?”

Mithfindl reached out to the Wood-Elf, his fingers threading through the hair at the base of Legolas’ neck in search of the periapt that had once been tied there. He could not see the Noldo now that he was on his belly, but he did not need to see Mithfindl’s face to know what arrogant, petulant frown graced his hateful features when he told the Prince, “I figured as much. So they know then? Elrond, the foul Ranger? Was it Faelthîr? She confessed, no doubt, once I had fled, to save her own hide.”

He was tied, soon to be tortured and raped, but Legolas would hurt Mithfindl any way that he could, even if it was only by words. He told the Noldo in a voice broken and raspy with agony, “Estel unraveled your plan first. He is cleverer than both you and Faelthîr.”

“Too bad it didn’t save his life, did it? He…” the Noldo began but his vindictive taunt petered out as he realized, “He’s not dead, is he? That putrid human is still alive?”

Legolas did not answer. He did not need to answer. _Idiot,_ he called himself. _You have revealed that Estel lives still. He might have gone on believing that Estel was dead. He might have just killed you once he had his fill of your befouled body and then fled for parts unknown, but now he will remain close to kill Estel._

“And yet, you are here alone, no one has come running in to save you, so no one knows where you are, do they, whore?” Taking hold of the Silvan’s arms, the Noldo wrenched them backwards, causing the Prince’s back to arch as his arms felt that they would soon pull free of his torso, so intolerable was the pain. “The human might be clever, but not you. You came here to face me alone. Unless you came to play, instead? I know how much you enjoy rough games such as these.”

The moment that he felt Mithfindl rise from his seat upon the Wood-Elf’s lower limbs, Legolas tried to use his feet before the Noldo could tie his legs, to kick out at Mithfindl or perchance to stand to run, but Mithfindl promptly sat back down. In retribution for this failed attempt, the Noldo began pummeling the Wood-Elf in his back. Methodically, calmly, and with an occasional snicker, Mithfindl jabbed his elbows and fists into Legolas’ lower torso until the Wood-Elf was retching from the nausea inducing pain. Mithfindl rolled the Prince upon his back to reach his front, his vicious beating of the Silvan not yet done, for he continued using his elbows and fists upon Legolas’ chest and belly now. He tried to protect his belly but each time he curled up to do so, Mithfindl would trounce him across the face. Only sheer determination kept the Silvan sentient.

When the cowed Wood-Elf was heaving for air while blood sputtered from his mouth, Mithfindl stopped to taunt him, “That’s much better. I liked you in blood and bruises. I’m rather upset that Elrond removed all the beautiful marks I made upon you. I wanted to see the outcome of my handiwork with the brick.”

He could see the lust growing in Mithfindl’s face. Blood dripped from the Noldo’s once again broken nose but the warrior did not seem to notice. The Noldo’s mouth hung open, his slack jaw letting bloodied drool drip from his lips. To Legolas, Mithfindl looked a slathering Warg who had just torn the throat out of a deer and was about to enjoy his dinner.

Mithfindl took his dagger from where he had placed it on the ground near to him. As he spoke, the Noldo began slicing through the cloth of the Silvan’s tunic, “You do not know how I have longed to take you when you could know that it was me thrusting inside you. As much fun as it was to watch you cry and moan while thinking that your disgusting Ranger rode you, it will be even more fun to ride you as myself.”

 _Just lie here and take it,_ the scar told him. _You are nothing. You are his whore as you were Kane, Sven, and Cort’s whore._

When he had split the cloth of the laegel’s tunic enough to expose the Wood-Elf’s torso, Mithfindl leant down to lave Legolas’ chest, ere nipping the Silvan’s skin cruelly and biting hard enough to draw blood. The feeling of Mithfindl’s mouth upon him renewed the Prince’s struggles. He fought like a wild animal. Without a periapt to control the Silvan and lacking the chance to drug him with poppy to subdue him, Mithfindl sat atop the Prince and tried to restrain him so he could continue his molestation, but for the Noldo it was like riding a wild stallion, which was just as he had joked that night in the storeroom under the stairs – that the Prince was a wild stallion that needed breaking. Legolas bucked, writhed, and twisted to be free of Mithfindl’s weight. His arms, which were tied behind him, were growing numb, but it was the detachment of his mind that he fought against, for he could feel himself giving in. He could feel himself giving up.

 _I will not be taken again. I will not suffer his lust again,_ the Prince vowed, even as Mithfindl began to tug at the laces to Legolas’ trousers. 


	5. Chapter 5

_You are a failure. You could not even kill Mithfindl, even when you had him surprised,_ the scar told the laegel.

Mithfindl was tugging at the lacings to his trousers, his fingers not quick to untie the knot there, for in his excitement, the cruel Noldo was fumbling. Legolas’ head was pounding, his vision was hued red from the blood in his eyes that wept from the new cut upon his forehead where he’d hit his face upon the filthy rock floor of the cave. His skull felt cracked, so much did it hurt from where Mithfindl had pounded his head against the ground to subdue him, though since he was sentient and breathing, the Prince imagined that it must only feel split open.

_If Kalin had not been hurt, he would have been able to kill Mithfindl for you, at least, since you are too weak to do it yourself. Always you must have someone save you. You are worthless._

The Noldo had already beaten him nearly senseless. Mithfindl had not been as thorough in his abuse as he had in the pleasance, especially since he’d used only his hands and elbows and not a brick as he had a few days ago, when nearly killing the laegel, but Legolas was not dosed with poppy this time and he could feel every contusion upon his person. The taste of sickness lingered in his mouth; Mithfindl had beaten him in the lower back until he had retched, yes, but at the feeling of the Noldo’s hands upon him, Legolas thought he might be sick again.

“If only Estel were here,” the Noldo teased. He had given up trying to untie the knot and took his dagger up to cut free the ties keeping him from removing the laegel’s trousers. “I wish he weren’t a foul human, else I would do to him what I plan now for you. But once I am done with you, we shall see if we can have him join us. He can’t be too far behind. I can’t imagine that he would let you go alone in the forest for long, since you can’t seem to take care of yourself, little Princeling. Wouldn’t it be nice if he were here to watch? I think if I found him in the woods, I would not even need to kill him or maim him – I’d only need to tell him that I had you and he would hand himself over to me.”

“You will not have him,” he argued, though his heart feared that Mithfindl was right and that the Noldo would find some way to coerce the Ranger into submission by using Legolas as bait. “He would never hand himself over to you. Just do what you will, kill me, and let this be the end of it.”

“No, I intend to keep you around for a long while – at least until the human is dead. Hopefully, he can have the chance to watch what becomes of you before you watch what becomes of him,” Mithfindl told him with a wry snort of anticipation, his dagger making quick work of the leather string. The dagger pressed harmlessly into the Prince’s groin during this task, but the sensation was only a precursor to what would come now that Mithfindl could remove the laegel’s trousers. He paused once the string was cut so that he could taunt the Prince, “Estel isn’t pretty like you are, whore, so I won’t fuck him, don’t worry. At least, not with my cock. I may stick your long knife into him a few times, just to hear him scream.”

Legolas pressed his eyes shut so that he could no longer see the Noldo’s laughing, unkind face. To hear Mithfindl speak ill of Estel was bad enough, but to have him make such violent, malicious threats caused Legolas’ blood to run cold. He would rather Mithfindl do such things to him than Estel. _If I just lie here, he will see it done. He does not know it, but Estel or Elladan or Elrohir will eventually come this way, if Kalin’s artificial trail has been found. They will find Kalin, who has already told them exactly where I was going, and Mithfindl will have the chance to kill or torture one of them._ His own life was worth nothing, he knew, but he would not let Mithfindl have his revenge against Estel or kill one of the twins in his effort to see Estel dead.

Opening his eyes, his pain and despair pushed away, the Prince heard the clatter of the dagger as Mithfindl tossed it casually to the side so that both his hands would be free for his next act – removing the impediment to his pleasure. Legolas’ mind filled with the images of Estel being tortured or one or both of the twins suffering in his place, all because they loved him and followed him to help him, to ensure his well-being. Legolas would die to keep them safe. Mithfindl grabbed hold of the waist of the Wood-Elf’s trousers to yank them from his hips.

 _He has not yet but he will tie your legs once he gets your trousers off you,_ he recognized and considered this good fortune, since Estel’s life might depend on this lapse by Mithfindl. _Do it now or you will lose what will be your only chance._

And so, while Mithfindl was leant over him, having risen from his seat upon the Silvan’s legs, his lustful smile and assurance that his plaything was restrained causing him to be lax in his vigilance, the Wood-Elf rose up in a hurry. As he had done earlier, Legolas shoved his head at the Noldo’s face, his forehead thrusting into the Noldo’s already broken nose. The impact made a distinct crunching sound that the Silvan both heard and felt against his forehead. With a scream, Mithfindl fell backwards, both of his hands clutching his face, where his nose was no longer merely broken but entirely askew upon his face. On his knees, the Noldo curled into himself, his face nearly touching the floor of the cave in reaction to the immense pain from his demolished nose; Mithfindl did not stop screaming, though his hands muffled his pained cries.

“You will pay for that, whore,” the Noldorin warrior warned him with a groan. Perhaps thinking that since the Silvan was tied he was immobile, Mithfindl remained hunched over and did not look up to see that Legolas had not made some mere cheap shot against him but was making a true bid for his freedom.

 _Quickly. Quickly,_ the Prince told himself, wasting no time to enjoy the Noldo’s agony.

His hands and arms were bound securely behind him, the rope having been wound almost to his elbow, but by doubling over, the nimble Elf was able to slide his hands down to his rear and then his rear through the space between his arms, such that his hands were now under his thighs. Although it hurt immensely, caused the rope to bite into his flesh, and felt like he was pulling his arms free of their sockets, the laegel twisted until he had one knee and then his whole leg through the space between his arms. Once done, it was much easier to slide his other leg through, and while his hands were still tied, they were now secured in front of his body.

“Just for that, when I am done with you, I will…” the Noldo began, but chose this moment to look to his quarry, who was no longer lying upon the ground as he had thought. Mithfindl’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.

Both Noldo and Silvan looked at each other for a moment. Neither held a weapon in hand. With his arms bound and already having shown that he was no physical match for the stouter Mithfindl, Legolas knew that he would need the dagger or his long knife. He did not see his long knife but between them on the ground, where the Noldo had carelessly left it, laid Mithfindl’s dagger. The Noldo saw this just as did Legolas – simultaneously, the Silvan and Noldo leapt towards the dagger, their bodies colliding as they both hit the same spot to try to grab the weapon.

The Wood-Elf’s fingers scraped along the cavern’s floor along with Mithfindl’s hands, his sole impetus to get to the dagger before the Noldo. And then, Legolas had it in hand. He wrapped his numbed fingers around the dagger’s blade, could feel his blood as the sharp metal sliced through his fingers, but he did not release his hold. Unable to locate the dagger himself, Mithfindl attacked the Wood-Elf instead, thinking that he could subdue him before the laegel found the blade. The Noldorin warrior seized the Prince’s shoulders and tried to throw him to the ground; Legolas rolled through the air and then across the floor towards the rear of the cave, where the air was danker, the light grew darker, and he could hear the odd gurgling sound of water. Mithfindl did not release the laegel during this and so rolled with him. First, the Silvan was atop the Noldo, then the Noldo atop the Silvan, until their bodies stopped rolling with Legolas straddling Mithfindl.

Mithfindl trounced the Wood-Elf across the face twice before Legolas even had the chance to adjust to this rapid change in position. His head was swimming – as was his vision – and he nearly lost consciousness from those vicious blows. But during all this, he had somehow not lost his hold of the dagger. The Noldo did not cease fighting but wrapped his hands around the laegel’s throat to choke the life from him. Rapidly, Legolas tried to turn the weapon so that he held the hilt and nearly lost his hold when the blood from his mangled hands caused it to slip through his fingers. The feeling of the Noldo touching him was enough to cause Legolas’ flagging consciousness to reassert itself; he succeeded in breaking free of Mithfindl’s strangling hands for a moment to snatch a breath before the black tendrils of insentience pulled him under for good.

More than he wanted the air he choked into his lungs, the Prince wanted Mithfindl’s death. However, he was not the Noldo, he was not like Mithfindl. Nor did he want to be like Mithfindl; that is, cruel and base. Legolas had thought of little these past few days other than slitting the Noldo’s throat but now that his chance was upon him, the Prince wavered for a split second when he realized that he was about to kill a fellow Elf.

_Do it. Do it or he will kill you._

He did not fear death – no, in fact, Legolas longed for the relief of death almost as much as he longed to be relieved of his desire for it. But he could not die yet. He could not die if it meant that Mithfindl would live to finish his revenge against Estel. His lover’s life was short enough, given that Estel was human, but the mere possibility that the Adan’s life might end at Mithfindl’s hands was unthinkable to Legolas. Mithfindl would not merely kill the Ranger, he would torment him in ways that would make Aragorn wish he were dead, that would break the man’s spirit and his body.

 _He will kill you and then be free to torture and kill Estel,_ his darkening mind supplied him. _You cannot let him touch Estel._

“Get off me,” the Noldo was demanding, his hands so tight around Legolas’ neck that he could feel the older Elf’s fingernails digging into the skin at the back of his neck. Mithfindl did not truly want the Prince dead, since he wanted to cause him to suffer for his own pleasure, but at the moment, the Noldo was more interested in his own preservation than preserving the life of his plaything, and so twisted his hands harder, as though to snap the Wood-Elf’s neck.

Mithfindl was coughing underneath him, though it was the laegel who could not breathe. Legolas’ eyesight failed him; his muscles began to weaken as the lack of air stole away the remainder of his awareness. And yet, with what he had left of himself and what volition he retained, he focused upon his hand until it was all that existed for him. Tightening his fingers around the haft of the Noldo’s dagger, Legolas wordlessly begged Ilúvatar for his swing to strike true. Whether by Ilúvatar’s will or sheer luck, the Prince’s swing was aimed perfect, and yet, as his bound arms came down, the Noldo knocked one of the laegel’s elbows and threw the Wood-Elf off balance, and thus managed to deflect Legolas’ swing enough such that instead of his heart the blade entered Mithfindl’s chest above his collarbone. The Noldo’s hands left the laegel’s throat.

 _Again,_ he told himself as he yanked at the dagger’s hilt to pull it out of the Noldo’s chest. _You must try again. Go for his throat this time._

With a screech of pain and defiance, and knowing that his end would be soon in coming if Legolas removed the dagger to try again, the Noldo gave a mighty heave and pushed Legolas from atop him before the laegel could get the embedded weapon free. The Wood-Elf tumbled to the side, farther back into the cave. Once more he was without weapon, his throat felt like it was filled with hardening clay, and with his back to the rear of the cave, he was unable to run, either. Still, he clambered to his feet, unsteadily standing to face the oncoming Noldo, while Mithfindl smiled through the blood that flooded over his face and neck from his nose, pulled the dagger out of his chest, and began to walk towards the laegel.

“I had planned to kill you quickly, eventually, after I had my fill of you, but now…” the Noldo laughed, “now I think when I’ve had my fill of you, I’ll geld you like the merchants had planned and then sell you to a slave trader. Then you can live the rest of your miserable life as a true whore.”

Such a thing would never happen. The laegel would let his faer flee his body before he let that occur. Even now, he was tempted to fade just to keep the Noldo from having his fill of him, as he’d just promised, but despite the growing blossom of blood upon Mithfindl’s chest from the wound that Legolas had given the Noldo, he was not yet assured of Mithfindl’s death. Legolas was not dying until the Noldo died. He was not taking the chance that Mithfindl would live to hurt Estel.

Mithfindl walked towards him, the dagger in front of him, and his arms out wide in case Legolas tried to run past him. The laegel was barely standing though and knew there was no chance he could run past Mithfindl. His lungs were gasping for air, his body quaking with the effort of remaining alert, and his mind was dimming, his reason diminishing. To buy himself a few more moments before the Noldo cleared enough distance to grab him, Legolas hastened back a few shambling steps. However, the Wood-Elf halted abruptly at the strange sensation of his foot hovering over empty space.

 _It is another Troll trap,_ the Prince had the time to think.

His muddled mind wondered how to make use of this, but although he had stopped moving backwards, Mithfindl did not stop coming forwards; the Noldo lunged for Legolas while the laegel stood still, knocking the Silvan rearward, causing the Wood-Elf to stumble back the single step it took for him to run out of cavern floor on which to stand. He had the sudden feeling of weightlessness before the dim view of the cavern was gone from sight; he tried to twist as he fell into nothingness and managed to roll in midair enough to view the nothing into which he fell. Whereas his near fall into the ravine full of stakes had looked like a mouth full of teeth, this dark and abysmal pit seemed to be the gullet of a black beast that would swallow him whole. His hands still bound together, Legolas could do little to break his fall. With a loud smack as his body hit the surface of water, the Elf was soon underneath the mephitic liquid inside the pit into which he had fallen. Luckily, the water had broken his fall just enough such that he suffered no more than a few more bruises and scrapes rather than shattered limbs.

Above him, though it was too dark for him to see it, Mithfindl had somehow managed to cling to the precipice over which he’d accidentally pushed Legolas. He could hear Mithfindl from above, cursing as he pulled himself up the edge and back to the relative safety of the cave floor. With what he might have mistaken for concern had not Mithfindl just beaten him senseless and nearly despoilt him again, the Noldo called out, “Legolas?”

The laegel did not answer. Unable to use his hands to right himself, Legolas kicked and squirmed until he was able to place his legs under him. The Silvan knelt in the reeking water, his knees cut upon the sharp stone and rubble under him.

Wildly, the laegel searched his surroundings with his unseeing eyes as he struggled to his feet. To say that the pit was dark was an understatement. Legolas had never experienced such lightlessness before. Although he tried to remain calm, he was failing. First, he felt around with his booted feet. Currently, he stood in water that came to his knees. The water was stagnant, filthy with leaves and soil and other unknowable debris, and smelled rank. Through the thin soles of his boots, the Elf could feel the strange sediments and rocks under his feet, but felt also that he stood upon sticks of some sort. Being that this was an abandoned Troll cave, the laegel was suddenly sure that he stood not on sticks but on bones. The Elf knelt carefully, reached down between his feet, and was able to pick up one such stick. He was able to feel it for only a moment ere his quickly numbing, bleeding, and lacerated hands dropped it. It was no stick. He was in a pit full of fecund water and bones.

He could do little with his arms tied and so immediately set about trying to remedy this. Still kneeling upon the floor, feeling bone fragments slicing into his knees and shins, Legolas fumbled around until he found a jagged protrusion from the wall. At once and with no regard to the injury it caused, the Prince began to rub the rope against the rock to sever the rope. He worked relentlessly. His arms were numb already so he could not feel the blood that seeped through the rope and into the cesspool in which he knelt as he rubbed raw the flesh of his forearms and wrists – flesh that his Minyatar had healed from these very kinds of wounds only days before. The knots that Mithfindl had tied were secure but the rope had not been new or of Elvish make, but cord that the Noldo had found in the cave. The partially rotted rope began to part easily under the sharp edge of the protrusion.

He stopped a moment to breathe when his panic threatened to overcome his better sense. He focused only on freeing his hands. He could not think beyond this. If he stopped to consider what he would do once able to move his arms, if he considered whether he could get out of the pit in which he was trapped, or if he let his mind turn to the primal terror that was swelling inside him from being blinded by dark amidst a bone yard of Troll dinners, the Elf would lose his mind. When finally the last bit of rope came free and he could unwind the restraints from his wrists and forearms, Legolas rested his head against the pit’s wall in relief; though he knew that having his hands free did not mean that he could get out of this predicament, he hadn’t relished the idea of dying in a dark hole without at least being capable of trying to get free.

For so long had he heard nothing from the cavern floor above him that Legolas began to think that Mithfindl had been injured further during their struggle or that the stab wound he’d given the Noldo had caused the Elf to exsanguinate. As it turned out, Mithfindl was not unconscious or dying up above, as Legolas hoped. He realized that Mithfindl still lived when suddenly, the Wood-Elf could see. During his quiet absence above, the Noldo had fashioned a torch out of strips of Legolas’ tunic that he’d wrapped around a green branch of wood. The Prince could smell burning oil and guessed that Mithfindl must have brought provisions with him during his flight from the valley, since the Noldo had known that he wouldn’t be able to return or go to any nearby settlements for such things. Judiciously, fearing that Legolas might be able to pull him over or throw something at him and cause him to fall, also, Mithfindl crept to the edge of the pit to peer over it, his torch held out over the open air.

“What poor luck you have, whore,” Mithfindl called down, madcap laughter in his guttural voice. “I have no more rope to haul you up, as it turns out, nor have any other means to pull you out. Ah, what poor luck I have, as well, since I didn’t get to fuck you one last time.”

Legolas ignored the Noldo and instead took the opportunity of having light to look around the pit into which he’d fallen. Where he now stood was the tallest part of a steady decline that led deeper underground, but the roof above the remainder of the pit slanted downwards the same as the floor, such that if the laegel tried to find a way out by swimming into the foul water, he might only end up in an underground lake or mired in the dark, under the rock, with no air. The walls of the pit were sheer, without possible handholds and with no slant to them.

 _I cannot climb out of here. I cannot swim out of here. I am stuck,_ he decided, his terror mounting now that he could see the hopelessness of his situation.

Mithfindl was speaking again up above, not caring that the Prince had not responded to his earlier taunts, “Already got your arms free, have you? Good for you. I would have dropped your long knife down for you, but Estel and I have plans for it. Here, whore,” the Noldo called to him. “To pass the time.”

He heard a splash behind him and felt for what had been thrown to him, while the torch still provided light for him to see it. The familiar feel of the tunic he’d been wearing, the tunic that Faidnil had borrowed from Ninan for him, which Mithfindl had cut free from his body, met his fingers. What was left after Mithfindl had fashioned his torch was now in the laegel’s hands.

“Careful,” Mithfindl warned gaily. “Don’t break the glass. You might want that before the end.”

Instead of inspecting what the Noldo had dropped to him, the Prince laid the tunic and whatever was within upon the only protrusion in the wall – the protrusion against which he had severed his rope binds. He did not want to die down here, but if he were to die in this hole, he did not want to die by starving to death or fading from sorrow. He called up to Mithfindl, his voice breaking from the damage done to his throat, “Take your bow and end me, if you want me dead. Do not be a coward.”

“A coward? I’m showing you mercy, Princeling,” the Noldo said, laughing manically, with one hand pressed tightly to the bleeding wound that the Prince had made upon his chest. “I left you the milk of the poppy that I had brought for you. There are two small phials there, which is probably not enough to kill you, but it may pass the time.”

“Do not leave me here,” he reproved the Noldo, which came as close to begging as he would allow himself. He knew better than to think that Mithfindl would aid him in escaping the pit, but he could try to force Mithfindl into killing him before he left. Instead of pleading, he tried to threaten the Noldo, though he knew that it was an empty promise, “If you leave me here, I will escape, I give you my word, and I will find you and this time I will not fail to kill you. And if I do not escape, if I die,” he guaranteed the Noldo, “you will never be safe. My King and people will hunt you forever; Elrond and his sons will hunt you forever.”

“I do not care, whore. What is done is done. I will die, certainly. I can never sail to Valinor; I can never live amongst our own kind again. Before I die, though, I have one last account to settle.” The Noldo laughed down at him again – not with the wild cachinnations of before, but the sorrowful titters of someone on the verge of madness. “I know that Estel is out in the woods looking for you. How could he not be? As I said, that mangy dog follows you around as if you were a bitch in heat. So in here you sit. But don’t fret. If I find and kill your human soon, I will come back for you. A few days of sitting amidst bones, Troll shit, and who knows what else, in the dark and starving, might soften your hatred of me, you think? Maybe you would be willing to do whatever I asked to be free of that hellhole. And if Estel or one of your kin or a sentinel manages to kill me before I come back for you… well, they will never know where to find your body, will they?”

The Noldo’s torch was sputtering and dying, the cloth too wet from the rain to keep burning, despite the dousing of oil Mithfindl had given it. Legolas looked to the small ledge upon which he’d set the phials that Mithfindl had thrown down to him. _Not enough to kill me, he says,_ the Prince rued, though he chastised himself, _I already think of death when I should be thinking of how to escape._ _If Estel or one of the twins comes this way looking for me, Mithfindl will be lying in wait to kill them._

Softly, so quietly that the Prince stilled his breathing just to be certain that he could hear, Mithfindl told the laegel, “That day, when first I touched you – I did not know you had been attacked in the forest or in Lake-town by the human merchants. I did not know you were grieving. You did not struggle. You moaned beneath me like a seasoned whore. And yet, to the human, to Elrond, you said I attacked you.”

This was true, in a way. At first, the laegel had not struggled under Mithfindl’s unwanted attentions because the pain the Noldo had brought him had silenced the voice of the scar.

“The human took everything away from me. My father turned his back on me. He told me to sail. He told me that I had shamed him. He volunteered to go to Lothlórien because he could not bear to look at me any longer, I think,” the Noldo was saying in what sounded almost like a sane and rational tone of voice. He could barely see Mithfindl, but the Prince could hear the agony in the Noldo’s voice. Mithfindl’s life was ruined, and though much of it was his own fault, it had all begun with Legolas and Estel. The Wood-Elf could see why Mithfindl blamed them, even if he did not agree with the Noldo’s actions.

“It did not have to be this way,” the Prince tried to tell the Noldo, though he knew his words would mean little at this point. Having a quiet conversation with Mithfindl seemed contrary to reality, after all that the Noldo had done to him. Legolas placed both hands upon the rock in front of him, his forehead resting upon the cool, slimy stone once more. “Estel took his anger out upon you. I am sorry for that. Even now, I regret that he assaulted you. But you could have broken Estel’s nose in return. Poisoning my father and me, making me your thrall, beating and raping me – there is no excuse for that, not matter how your reputation suffered.”

“That is where you are wrong.” The Noldo stood. With the hand not holding the torch, Mithfindl brushed at his clothes as if brushing away the dirt, though they were muddied and bloodied beyond repair. Again, he said, “Estel took everything away from me, so I have taken everything he holds dear away from him. If only for a few days, he suffered as I have when I took your trust away from him, just as he took my father’s trust from me. I took you, just as he has taken the chance for me to find a mate who could look past the rumors and disparagement that have followed me. And now I take his lover’s life by leaving you here to wither in this hole, just as he has taken my life – or will take it, since I cannot live amongst our own kind anymore, nor find shelter in Valinor.”

The Noldo was smiling widely, for Mithfindl was enjoying this victory almost as much as he would have had he been able to force himself upon the Wood-Elf a last time. Mithfindl concluded, “All that he has left is his pathetic, human life, which I will soon take, as well.”

He almost called out again when Mithfindl began away and the light faded back into absolute darkness, but his pride kept him from begging for his life. He would not have hesitated to beg for his father’s life, for Estel’s life, for one of his friends or second family’s life, for he had no pride when it came to their lives, but for his own life, he would die as a Mirkwood warrior if he must die. And yet, starving to death in a pit inside a cave, poisoning himself with the poppy medicines to ease his suffering, or worse yet, willingly releasing his faer from rhaw just to be free of the imminent agony of his slow demise – none of these was the death of a soldier, of a Prince.

“Mithfindl,” he called out. After a few moments, the waning torchlight returned and he could see the Noldo looking down upon him, though his features were obscured by gloom. Now that his fellow Elf was standing there, waiting for him to speak, Legolas found he could not think of what to say to try to convince the Noldo to either kill him, spare him, or at least give up his vendetta against the Ranger. So instead, he told Mithfindl something he would never have thought to share with the hateful warrior, “I know that Kalin told Faelthîr of the scar, so you know of it, too. That day in the forest, when you accosted me, it was the madness of the scar and of my grief that kept me from pushing you away at first. It was not desire for you that made me compliant, nor disgust for you that made me rebuke you. It was all because of the sorrow I felt. Estel did not know of any of this at the time. I barely understood what was happening, myself. This was a mistake on all of our behalves.” The laegel did not know why he told the Noldo this, nor what he hoped to accomplish, so only repeated forlornly, “It did not have to be this way.”

From the obscurity above, Mithfindl shook his head and told the Prince, “What’s done is done. We are both set upon a course from which we cannot stray. If it matters at all, I don’t care whether you live or die. Once Estel is dead, I’ll come back for you,” the Noldo promised quietly, no teasing in his voice as before when he’d said this to Legolas. “He is the one I want to see suffer now. You were only a means to an end, just a whore for me to use to satisfy my need for vengeance against the Ranger. Once the human is dead, I will set you free.” Quietly, sincerely, the Noldo admitted to the laegel, “I don’t even care if you kill me then. In fact, I should like that.”

Finally, the torch sputtered out and Legolas was once more cast into the palpable darkness of what had become his tomb. At once, the laegel reached out to where he thought the protrusion to be. Carefully, he unwound the tunic to remove the glass phials of poppy milk, and then held the phials with the palm of his hand, flat against his chest. He was afraid to trust his blood-slicked fingers to hold them, being that he could not feel his fingers any longer, and he suddenly dreaded to lose the poppy, for he realized that if Mithfindl did not return or no one else found him, he would die leisurely in this pit and the poppy might be his only relief. Although he had teased Legolas, telling him that he was being kind to leave the poppy, the Wood-Elf was now beginning to think that perhaps Mithfindl’s faer had not become completely hateful, after all. He pressed the poppy tighter to his bare, filthy, and aching chest. The glass of the phials was thick, fortunately, and did not crush easily under his firm grip.

 _If Estel or Elladan or Elrohir found Kalin’s trail of arrows and signs, then they will follow it to their death, if Mithfindl lies in wait for them as he promises to do. But if they did not find Kalin’s trail, then Kalin may die from injury waiting for me to return. Either way, I will die in this pit, the cause of all of their misery and suffering,_ he blamed himself, thinking of the last several months, and how his momentary lapse in caution during a trip to Lake-town had ruined the lives of all those around him.

Drawing his legs up under him, the laegel sat painfully on his feet to keep himself above water. He heard nothing more from above and did not call out to Mithfindl again.


	6. Chapter 6

“Estel.”

At first, the Ranger was unsure of what he was hearing because he couldn’t tell from where the voice was coming. But then, remembering that he searched for two Wood-Elves, Estel looked up into the birch trees above him. Rain beat down upon his face, blinding him, but he searched fervently for the source of the call. Only because Kalin was waving his arm did the Ranger find the Elf, for if the sentry had not wished to be seen amidst the leafed branches of the birch tree and especially since the night was dark under the canopy of the woods, Aragorn would have had no chance in seeing the Wood-Elf otherwise.

“Estel,” the frail voice said again. “It is Kalin.”

Relief flooded the human’s being. He called up, “Kalin, come down!”

It was not magic that let Wood-Elves hide amidst the treetops so easily, but practice and the coloring of their clothing. Still, Estel lost sight of Kalin at once when the waving arm receded, as though the Silvan had indeed used some magical spell to disappear completely.

“Is Legolas with you?” he asked, though he knew that his Elven lover would have been the first to greet him, despite that he had left the Ranger behind in the valley, lest Legolas was injured. This possibility made him call up before he gave the Silvan the chance to answer, “Are you well? Is Greenleaf well?”

“I am injured. And I am thirsty. Bring me up water and I will tell you of Legolas.”

 _Fair enough,_ he told himself. He wanted to get to Kalin to see to his wounds but imagined that the sentry would not be sitting idly in a tree if his Prince were injured, and so made even greater haste, since he now feared that the laegel was not with his sentry as the Ranger had hoped. Aragorn was no Wood-Elf but he could climb a tree well enough if given the time. In the gloaming, though, with little moonlight, heavy rain, and an aggravated belly wound, he moved even slower than he might have generally. When finally he reached the sentry, he settled himself on a branch that jutted out within arm’s length of Kalin. So tired was the Ranger, so hungry and exhausted was he, that upon looking down, the Adan felt dizziness overwhelm him. He hastily turned his attention to Kalin rather than downwards.

“Thank Ilúvatar you are here,” Kalin told him with a smile once Estel was firmly seated and safe. “I thought you would be at least two days behind us, if you were behind us at all, but you were only a day behind. Now you are only a few hours behind Legolas, if my Prince is where he said he would be, for he should have remained still for the better part of the day if he is waiting for Mithfindl. The water, Estel, please,” the Silvan prompted impatiently.

 _I am very close then, Greenleaf,_ he thought as if speaking to his absent lover. Over the last few days and especially after finding Kalin’s blood-inked note in which he’d written the location to where Legolas was headed, the Ranger often spoke to the laegel as if he were there. Sometimes he even spoke aloud. It comforted him. _I hope you have already killed Mithfindl, because I may throttle you when I find you._

“I left the valley only a few hours after you two did and have not stopped running except to jog,” he told the sentry, the scorn plain in his voice. He had no call to be mad at Kalin, for the sentry had only done as his Prince had bid him to do in aiding him to flee the valley, the Ranger knew. And yet, Kalin had not talked his Prince out of this foolhardy venture to find Mithfindl on their own. He explained as he pulled his leather pack off his back to sit beside the Wood-Elf, “And then I found your note and have sprinted since. Had I not decided it best to stick to your trail, I would never have come by this way. But it is good fortune that I have. You say I am only a few hours from your Prince, but how long ago did you last see Legolas?”

Aragorn pulled free his waterskin from his satchel and handed it to Kalin, who eagerly took the skin and began to drink in huge, noisy gulps. Half the water streamed down Kalin’s face, which was caked in tacky blood that had not dried because of the rain, but the sentry did not care. He told the human once he’d emptied the nearly full container, “He said he would return this evening, but he has not yet come back.”

He took the skin back from Kalin, stuffed it into his satchel, and began rooting through the bag for clean linen bandaging and any useful herbs he might have. Since he had feared to find Legolas injured after his encounter with Mithfindl, the Adan had thrown a small cache of medicines and bandaging into his bag, along with his waterskin and some dried venison. Other than the clothes on his back and his weapons, he had brought nothing else.

“Hannon le, Estel. Legolas left me our waterskin, but I have long since drunk it,” Kalin told him. The sentry grimaced as he shifted upon the branch.

 _I need to see to these wounds before I decide what needs to be done,_ the Ranger considered. He was not leaving the kind and stalwart sentry to fend for himself in the woods, especially not if the sentry was wounded gravely.

“Lift your shirt,” he asked of Kalin, adding, “What happened to you?”

With a snort of mirthless deprecation, Kalin replied, “A Troll trap filled with stakes.”

When the sentry did as requested, the Ranger gently pried the makeshift bandaging off the Elf’s body. _That is Legolas’ shirt… the shirt he was wearing when he left._ Kalin was grievously wounded, but not mortally so. He could see, as had Legolas that dawn, that the stake driven in the sentry’s side had glanced off his ribs, meaning that no vital organs were pierced, though it had gone through the Elf’s body from back to front at an angle, meaning that it had created a long tunnel of torn flesh that bled freely.

Since he’d received no proper answer, again he asked, “How long ago, Kalin? When did Legolas leave you here?” The Ranger tried to keep the censure from his voice but could not.

“Do not be angered at Legolas for leaving me. I begged him to do so as I would beg you to do so now.” The Elf shifted on the branch again, for he was unable to get comfortable. Even wounded, bleeding, and dizzy from blood loss, the Wood-Elf had not fallen from the tree, which did not surprise Estel, given that other than in the tainted, southernmost parts of the Mirkwood forest, trees in general were always pleased to have a Wood-Elf nearby and did what they could to protect them. “He said four hours there and four hours back, at most, but he promised to return for me before nightfall.”

Aragorn ignored the sentry’s vindication of his Prince’s actions and asked yet again, “How long since last you saw him?”

With a sigh that turned into a groan when Estel prodded the hewn flesh of his side, Kalin told him in a voice growing steadily weaker as his pain increased from Aragorn’s handling, “A day ago. I have slept for what seems forever, though, so I fear I may be wrong. I hope I am not wrong. He left hours before dawn.”

It was almost dawn once again, meaning that the Wood-Elf Prince had been gone for a whole day. Four hours to the pond and four hours back was only one-third the time that the laegel had been absent. Moreover, he was hours past when he had promised to have returned, had he accomplished his task.

The Ranger took out the fresh bandaging he had. The weatherproofed leather had kept it mostly dry, but soon enough the rain would soak the cloth. Still, he removed Legolas’ ruined shirt scraps and wound the linen around the sentry. He had herbs that would dull the sentry’s pain, but if he gave them to Kalin, either he would be forced to carry the sentry to safety or he would be forced to leave Kalin alone while his mind was clouded with the analgesic.

“You left a trail for me to follow. Why?” he asked the sentry in curiosity. He helped the Silvan to replace his tunic and then offered the Elf some of the dried venison he had brought, though Kalin shook his head and did not take it.

“My Prince lives only to kill Mithfindl. Should he accomplish this goal, for what then will he live? I thought if you or your brothers could follow us, perhaps Legolas’ life might be prolonged should you find us after my Prince has his revenge.” Kalin hung his head in shame; it was likely that the sentry would have blushed had he the blood to do so, but a great deal of the Wood-Elf’s essence coated his clothing and the limb beneath him. Aragorn knew that Kalin had disobeyed his Prince and though he appreciated the sentry having done so, he could see that it weighed heavily upon the Wood-Elf’s mind. “I had thought to be beside my Prince for this, not to be injured and useless, so I gave little thought to Mithfindl surviving, but still, I feared that should Legolas and I fail in killing Mithfindl our fates would go unknown, or my Prince might become his captor. I thought if you and your brothers followed us, then he might still be saved.”

It was sound logic, by Estel’s thinking. “But he left you here and went unaided,” the rancorous Ranger replied. “And you think that I will run after him and leave you here to suffer alone, just as he has done.”

“I told him that I left a trail,” the sentry admitted. “He knows that I tried to show you our path and that I left the note telling where he was to meet Mithfindl. That is why he left me, Estel. He knew that someone would come along to find me.”

The night was passing them by while they sat here in a tree and argued. Whatever was decided needed to be done hurriedly. “And I have done just as you assured him. I have come along to find you.”

“No,” Kalin argued. The weakness left the Wood-Elf’s voice as he adamantly told the Ranger, “Leave me here. Go after my Prince, please,” the Silvan begged shamelessly, for he loved his Prince more than he loved his own life.

“I will go after him, but not until I have taken you to safety. Already Legolas has not returned,” he countered, “so what happens if I do not return, either?” Estel looked down to the floor of the forest below, which seemed like a great distance now that he was up, though while climbing it had seemed a short one. He was not certain how he would get the Wood-Elf out of the tree.

“By the time you reach the valley with me, should I even live that long,” Kalin continued to argue, “Legolas will have encountered Mithfindl. He has likely found him already, if Mithfindl was waiting for him as he had planned, though whether he is even where he claimed to be waiting, who can say?” The sentry paused to take a breath, which pained him from the grimace upon his face, ere he went on, “If Legolas manages to kill him, someone needs to be there to help him return to the valley. His anger is all that keeps his faer and rhaw together. I would not have him fade in some cave in the Trollshaws, Estel, but in the trees, at least, if he must fade, or amongst his friends and with his father in Imladris, if at all possible.” Kalin paused to take a deep breath before he reiterated his logic from before, “And if he does not manage to kill Mithfindl, I fear what Mithfindl may do to him. Please go after him.”

This was what Aragorn feared, as well – that Mithfindl would have the opportunity to enact more violence against the Prince. While the Silvan’s body was mostly healed from the wounds Mithfindl had made upon it in the pleasance and the room under the stairwell, his faer was as open a wound as the one upon Kalin’s torso. As irate as Aragorn was at his Elven lover, as much as he wished Legolas was there for him to rant and rave at, he wanted even more for Mithfindl to have no chance to defile or torture the Wood-Elf again. To have Legolas die was awful enough a thought, but to have Legolas die from being raped and tortured again went beyond the human’s ability to accept. He had promised himself time and time again that he would protect the Wood-Elf Prince, that he would lay down his life to keep Legolas safe and healthy, and that he would not hesitate in doing whatever it took to see this accomplished. Perhaps he had betrayed the Prince by allowing the King’s periapt to remain upon him and perhaps he betrayed his promise now by choosing to aid Kalin over the laegel, but Estel could see no other choice. There was no chance of his leaving Kalin in this tree to die. He could make the same promise that Legolas had in saying that he would return for the Wood-Elf sentry, but just as Legolas had broken that promise, so too might Estel.

“There is a patrol post close by here, though it is across the river,” the Ranger thought aloud, ignoring Kalin’s pleas. He took his bow and quiver from the branch near to Kalin, which was where Legolas had placed them within the sentry’s reach, and dropped them to the ground below. “Come,” he told the sentry, who groaned again as Aragorn tried to move him, “I cannot carry you down this tree, I fear, but I will help you as much as I can.”

“Estel…” the sentry began to argue once more.

“I will lug you down this tree if I must, but when I fall and break my neck I will be of no use to either you or Greenleaf,” the harried Ranger advised. With that, the unwilling sentry nodded, for either way, he wished to be down from the limbs, as well, and he could see that the human did not threaten lightly.

In Kalin’s current condition, it would take the better part of a day to get him to the patrol post. _That would place me a day or more behind Greenleaf. If he has already found Mithfindl, then I am already too late to help him in killing the bastard,_ the Ranger considered quickly, as he tried to find the same handholds he had used to climb up the birch so that he could climb down, _but I may still be of some help should he be injured or captured during his attempt to find revenge, or if it is as Kalin’s says, and his despair overcomes him after finding it._

Getting Kalin out of the tree proved much easier than the Ranger feared, for while Aragorn was engrossed in trying not to fall, the Silvan merely leapt down in one single, fluid, but very painful movement. Indeed, he heard Kalin gasp as his feet hit the ground; the Wood-Elf had managed to get out of the tree before the Ranger did, for Aragorn descended the birch slowly. In fact, he nearly fell when he startled upon seeing from the corner of his eye that Kalin had jumped, for he at first feared the Silvan had fallen. But looking down, he saw the Elf staring up at him with anxiety for the human’s welfare, instead. Once his own feet were firmly upon the ground, he went to Kalin, who leant against the trunk of the birch, his hand to his wounded side.

“Can you walk?” he asked Kalin, bending down to retrieve his bow and quiver. There were only a couple of arrows left in the quiver. Estel had not gathered the ones that Kalin had left along their way to the Trollshaws, for he’d decided to leave them in case Elladan or Elrohir happened upon the intentionally left trail. “We need more water, so either way, we go to the river.”

Although obviously not convinced that they should be leaving Legolas to his own devices and his argument against this unfinished, the sentry nodded and let the Adan take his arm to aid him in the short distance to the Bruinen. Though the Wood-Elf did not complain and did not slow down, when they reached the river, Aragorn could tell that just this small walk had sapped the Elf of his strength. Kalin had lost a good deal of blood; the wound only wept blood now rather than poured it, but unless they could stop the loss, the sentry would die.

As hurried as he was and as willing as he was to tie the Wood-Elf up to gain his compliance in heading for the border patrol outpost, when they stopped upon reaching the river, the Ranger hesitated. He was an adept swimmer, as was Kalin in normal times. Right now, however, the sentry could barely walk. Before they reached the patrol post, the human would end up having to carry the sentry, he knew – that is, if they made it across the Bruinen. Although the current of the Loudwater varied along its course, normally this far from the falls it was a lazy moving river, though deep. With the torrential rains of the last few days, the river was swollen beyond its normal size, having crept up the banks. The rains in the mountains from which the river sprang, in addition to the rains falling in the foothills and valleys, meant that the Bruinen would be engorged for days, if not a couple weeks – and this only if the rain stopped soon.

“What is it?” Kalin asked the human when he saw the Ranger’s consternation.

The sentry was trying to stand on his own but he held tight to the Ranger’s arm to stay upright. He looked at the Wood-Elf to gauge his well-being. With his bloodless fingers clasped onto the human’s arm and his face bruised and pale, the sentry looked so much like Legolas in that moment that the Ranger’s heart skipped a beat. _When I convinced Legolas to come into the pleasance with me to speak, he held onto Kalin’s arm just as Kalin is holding onto mine._

“Estel?” the sentry inquired softly, breaking the memory’s embrace upon the Adan’s mind. “We can turn back right now. Return me to my tree and go after Legolas.”

“No,” he determined at once.

His anger at his lover had colored his decision, he knew, and had overcome his worry for the Wood-Elf. Prior to the last few days, the Ranger would have gladly left Kalin behind because the sentry desired this to be so, but now, knowing that the sentry had already been left for dead by the Prince – the Prince whom Kalin loved most in this world – fomented his decision to go onwards to the patrol post. He would not let Kalin suffer for Legolas’ selfishness.

“No,” he said again with more resolve. He looked around him for a low branch and there hung his bow and quiver. He would retrieve them when he returned this way. “We are crossing this river to the outpost.”

Kalin said aloud what Estel feared, what had made the Ranger pause in the first place, “The river will not stop swelling. By the time that we reach this outpost and you make your way back here, the river may be impassable. You would need to backtrack to the Ford, in which case you will lose even more time.” With his blond hair plastered to his ghostly white face, his hand pressed to his injured side though he squared his shoulders, and his tunic stained with blood, Kalin let go of Estel to stand up straight, giving the false appearance of being in better shape than he truly was as he said, “I am not losing my Prince. Let us go back or I will go back without you to find him.”

The sentry was not bluffing, the Adan knew, and while he was not above forcing the obstinate Elf, it would be best if he agreed and aided the Ranger in their endeavor. He said the only thing that might sway Kalin, telling the Silvan, “You said so yourself – your Prince left you in the hopes that I or one of my brothers would come along to aid you. Your Prince wants me to take care of you. We go to the outpost even if I have to drag you there.”

“Legolas will die if you do not go after him.” As if he might turn and walk away, the sentry stepped back from the Ranger. “I am not letting my Prince die if I can stop it. That is my duty, it is my wish.”

“And it was _your Prince’s_ last wish that I see to your safety,” the human bitterly argued back at Kalin. He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and his knife from his belt to cut a few wide strips from the fabric. “Your _duty_ is to adhere to your Prince’s desires, even if it means his death.”

For a moment more, it seemed that Kalin would debate, but eventually, the Elf’s shoulders dropped, his stern expression fell from his face, and he reached out to grab onto the human’s arm once again for support. _I have aggrieved him even more. Already he is worried for his Prince and I only remind him that in all likelihood, Greenleaf is already dead._ The human shook his head as if he could shake the thoughts from his mind, which sent water droplets flying out around his face, though the rain soon replaced them. _I cannot assume that he is dead. He left the valley to prove to us that he is no weakling, that he can endure, and that he can fight his own battles. I must trust that this is so or trust that if he is dead, that he died with fight in his faer._

The Ranger did not take the time to gloat in having convinced the sentry, for Kalin was right. The longer that he stayed on the opposite side of the river, the less likely he would be able to return to this side, the side where his lover was currently searching for Mithfindl, or having found him, either dead, injured, or giving his faer to grief. Quickly, the Adan tied his strips together to form a makeshift rope, which he then set about tying around Kalin’s waist before tying it about his own. His satchel he handed to the Wood-Elf, who strapped it around his chest for safekeeping, while he took his sheathed broadsword from his belt, slid it down the back of his tunic, and then looped his belt around his chest to try to hold it in place so that he would not have his sword hindering his legs while he swam.

“If for some reason I go under,” the Ranger told the now quiet and bereft sentry, handing Kalin his knife, “cut yourself free and make for the shore on your own.”

Kalin did not argue against this plan but the human could tell from the look upon the Elf’s face that he would no sooner cut Estel free and save his own hide than Estel would cut Kalin free to save himself. Obediently, however, the sentry took the knife in hand and let the Ranger help him hobble to the river. His first step into the water nearly took the human off his feet, for he had not been prepared for how the river had risen up over the grassy bank and the vegetation and mud underfoot were not firm footing. Had it not been for Kalin’s steadying hand, their attempt to swim the river would have ended right then with both of them potentially dragged under. Kalin’s wounded side would have made it impossible for him to pull Estel out of the current.

“If you go under,” the sentry finally said acerbically, breaking his morose silence, “you will take me under with you, and neither of us will be able to return to Legolas.”

“Then let us not drown.” The Ranger was not swayed. More carefully this time, he stepped into the watercourse, planting his boots deep in the mud that the river had made of the shoreline. He took another step, and then another, until the water was up to his chest. Behind the Ranger and still tethered to Estel, Kalin easily stepped into the Bruinen, his footing sure for now. “Perhaps it is best if you just float. Do not fight against me,” he told the sentry.

Kalin nodded, the Ranger turned back around, and with a deep breath, Estel dove forward into the river. For the first few seconds, he felt certain that they would be swept away, especially when Kalin’s slight weight tugged at the tether upon his waist and he felt his entire body jerk to the side. He set his sights up the river, swimming diagonally against the current, his arms and legs threshing the water as rapidly as he could. Although he had told Kalin to try to float, Kalin was paddling behind him to try to keep the tether slack, which thereby kept the sentry’s weight from pulling at the Ranger. It seemed that no matter how much effort he gave, they were being swept down the river, but as long as they kept their heads above water and made it across, the human knew that it did not matter if they had to walk a little farther once on the other side.

Only halfway through, the Ranger’s belly began to throb with pain, the muscles of his stomach seizing in response to the constant pulling against the stitches that his Ada had made days ago. Estel did not panic, however, and kept his sight on the same point up river that he had chosen at first. An arm’s length away from the flooded bank, the human took the chance to try to put his feet under him. Luckily, he had chosen well and his boots dug into the mud and rock underfoot. He leant forward, finding a hold upon the grass out of the water – his first handful of grass pulled free, nearly flinging him back with the suddenness of its loosing, but the Ranger jumped forward again, this time managing to grab hold of the exposed root of a tree that grew close to the shoreline. His belly protesting his every movement now, Aragorn heaved with all his might until his upper half laid upon the relative safety of the bank, while behind him, the sentry tethered to him grabbed hold of the human’s legs. Kalin scaled the man’s body as though he were a ladder, until he was out of the river and able to help Estel the remainder of the way from the water. Together, Ranger and sentry rested where they had fallen, for both of them were injured and exhausted by the swim.

Estel lay upon the muddied bank, his chest heaving, his body thrumming with the aftereffects of fear. _If the river swells any further, I will never make it back across,_ he dreaded. _The only person I know who could swim in those currents without drowning is Legolas._

“Estel?” the Wood-Elf breathlessly asked him as he leant over the Ranger’s prone form. He could not yet speak; he coughed the water from his lungs while trying to catch his breath. Kalin tugged his arm until the human sat up, which finally allowed him to inhale properly. With relief, Kalin confessed, “I thought for certain that we would drown.”

“We have torn open your side.” Through the dampness of the Wood-Elf’s tunic and having seeped through the new bandaging that Aragorn had wrapped around the Silvan, Kalin’s bright and cheerily red blood blossomed. Estel helped remove his leather satchel from the Wood-Elf’s chest. Everything inside was now drenched by its dousing in the river, including the clean linen that he’d carried, so there was little point in replacing the soaked and bloodied bandaging over Kalin’s side with new. “I have no needle and gut and we will never find dry wood for a fire to cauterize your wounds. Getting you to the outpost and on a horse to Imladris is the best I can do.”

“Your belly, it would seem, has torn open, as well,” the Wood-Elf told him, pointing at where upon his tunic he had his own growing smirch of blood. When the Ranger lifted his tunic and shifted the bandaging to inspect the stab wound that the Prince had days ago made to his belly, Kalin reached out to examine the angered, inflamed flesh around the reopened injury to the human’s stomach and felt for himself the heat that resided there. “Your wound is infected,” the sentry exclaimed softly. “Here you rail at me for not wanting to find help but you are traipsing the woods while ill.”

Aragorn snorted in dark humor at the Elf’s incisive observation. He readjusted the soiled bandages to cover his belly again. The gut was pulled from the flesh. It was a small wound and would heal without being sewn, although it would now leave a bigger scar. And yet, the heat that he felt around the area was worrisome, for truly, he could not afford to falter from fever now.

“Then we both need to get to the outpost as soon as possible. Come,” he finally replied to Kalin, standing upon wobbly legs and pulling Kalin into standing soon after.


	7. Chapter 7

Interspersed throughout the outlying areas around Imladris were small outposts. These served dual purposes – the small flets built into the trees and the simple huts ensconced in the bushes were meant to provide accommodation and store supplies required by the border guards, but they were also used by Imladrians who needed a temporary place to hide should they be assailed or find themselves without food or needing shelter during their travels to and from the valley. Not all were in constant use by the border patrol; however, the one to which Estel now traveled was always occupied, for it was in a prime position to keep watch over the comings and goings of the lands southern to Rivendell. Though it had been several years since last he had seen it, he knew just where the flet was: upon the tallest hill in the area, in the tallest silver maple, the patrol had built this humble post. It was little more than a slat floor and a thatch roof with only partial walls – the walls were two planks followed by a missing board, then two more and another missing board. The patrol needed to see all around them, they were not affected by the weather, and they slept in hammocks strung between the tree trunk and one of the walls, if they slept at all inside the flet. It served their purposes.

 _Just a little while longer,_ he told the unconscious Kalin. Estel hefted his Elven burden in his arms. It would have been easier to carry Kalin over his shoulder but would have aggravated the sentry’s wound. He could see the hill in the distance and the great silver maple towering above the woods around him. _We will be there very soon. I promise you._

The going had been slower than he’d wished. If he’d tried, the Ranger might have made better time, but after his exhausting swim in the river to cross it, his dearth of sleep and lack of substantial food, and aggravated by the burning fever that was growing within his belly, Estel was in no shape to push himself to a faster pace. Kalin’s condition was becoming steadily worse and Estel’s health was sliding downhill right along with him. The bleeding of the Wood-Elf’s side was now back to a trickle from where it earlier had become a torrent due to the strenuous activity of trying to cross the Bruinen, but Aragorn feared that the sentry was no longer bleeding because he was nearly exsanguinated. Before slipping into insentience, the Wood-Elf had told the Ranger the story of his and Legolas’ journey through the woods, of how Legolas had at first tried to incapacitate his sentry to flee on his own before Kalin convinced him to allow him to join his endeavor, and the Silvan had explained how he had saved his Prince from injury or death from the Troll trap and thereby earned himself a potentially mortal wound.

And yet, Kalin breathed, his heart still beat, and his flesh was warm with life – all these were good signs to the Ranger. Halfway to their destination, the sentry had merely toppled over onto his knees, then onto his face, his sentience fleeing him abruptly and Estel unable to catch him in time. Aragorn had wrapped Kalin in his cloak and continued on; since then, the Adan had carried the sentry, as he had known would happen eventually, but that he could not rouse Kalin from his unconsciousness was disturbing, for it had been several hours and the Ranger was beginning to fear that Kalin might never wake again.

Aragorn kept his mind focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Although summer, it was unnaturally chilly because of the incessant rain, the sky was tumultuous and gloomy above head, and the day wore on too quickly for his liking, while his walking seemed too slow by comparison. Already, the storm-clouded sun was moving off into the west, for it was nearly sunset. If he left as soon as he got to the border patrol outpost, he would be back at the river by dawn, since he would be able to run once again without Kalin to carry or to help along. He knew, though, that if he did not drown trying to cross the Bruinen, he still had at least three hours run to the pond by which Legolas was supposed to meet Mithfindl. All these hours of running and swimming and other tasks combined would mean that it would be midday of tomorrow before he found out what had happened to his Greenleaf. The suspense of not knowing was driving him mad with worry.

While trying to convince Kalin to come to the outpost, Aragorn had been more angered at Legolas than he had ever before felt towards the Silvan Prince. On their way and once Kalin was unconscious, and with nothing to do but think, Aragorn had been beset by regret for his decision. His infuriation with Legolas was minor in comparison to the Wood-Elf Prince’s life, but his choosing Kalin – who had not wanted to be chosen – rather than choosing Legolas might prove to be the difference between the laegel living or dying. Even now, as he once again hefted Kalin in his arms when he felt the rain soaked, slippery cloth of his cloak begin to slide out of his grasp, the Ranger wondered disjointedly, _If Kalin dies, and he may very well die, and I have forced him to come to the outpost when all that he wanted was for me to find Legolas, and then Legolas dies because I have left him to fend for himself when I could have been helping him instead…_

The Ranger tried to push these thoughts away. Over the many years that he had known Legolas, the human had not often worried for the laegel’s safety. Certainly, over their friendship they had shared trouble together – especially since it was the Wood-Elf and twins’ pastime to hunt Orcs like some beings hunted game – but always before Aragorn had known that the Prince could take care of himself. Legolas was a consummate warrior, he had killed more Orcs, spiders, and other foul beings than Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel combined, for he lived in a land that held danger for even the most simple of tasks. For example, despite the Silvan’s constant efforts to keep the forest within their borders clear of them, in the tainted Greenwood, a walk just beyond the courtyard of Thranduil’s mountain palace chanced an encounter with the fell spiders that lurked in the treetops, while should the twins or Ranger wish to find danger, they would need to travel far past the borders of Imladris, and even then, they would need to hunt for Orcs rather than fear to be hunted themselves. The Ranger was well aware that Legolas had forgotten more of strategy, archery, swordsmanship, and combat than ever the human knew or would learn.

Nonetheless, the Ranger was afraid for his lover. For the past few hours, Aragorn had been thinking of how much his life had changed since the first time that he and Legolas shared their bodies. At first, he had ascribed this change in his belief in the Prince’s abilities as merely an extension of his love for the Wood-Elf, although his love for Legolas had not suddenly materialized. Aragorn had loved the Prince as his friend since he was ten years of age and loved him as something more since the Ranger had become a young man, although it was only recently that he had realized that the depth of love he held for the Elf was not mere lust or friendly affection. No, for years now, he had loved the Prince but not once doubted the laegel’s abilities.

Indeed, the longer that he thought of it, the greater that his worry ate at him, and he came to understand that Legolas was right and that all of them – Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Thranduil, and most worryingly Estel – now held a lesser opinion of the Prince, as though because he had suffered he was weaker for it, rather than having grown stronger by surviving.

Aragorn paused a moment, intending to lay Kalin upon the ground to check his injuries, but with Kalin still in his arms, the sentry’s fair head lolling across Estel’s forearm, the Ranger came to a stop as he comprehended, _Before I knew that Legolas was attacked in Lake-town, never once for a moment had I doubted him. Never once. I have seen him dispatch a throng of Orcs, dodging their arrows and swords all the while, protecting me while I dispatched a few of my own, and never once did I think of him as incapable of fighting his own battles until recently._ He stood there, the rain pouring through the leaves overhead to beat upon his shoulders and hair. Aragorn looked down to Kalin to make sure that the sentry’s mouth was still closed, and thus that the water was not pooling within to choke him, and thought, _It is no wonder that he left to find Mithfindl on his own. Before, only his father treated him like a pathetic and weak Prince, but now – despite that Greenleaf has shown the strength to survive pain and injury that most would have succumbed to, despite that he has endured his sorrow when others of the Elves would have gladly perished or sailed, and despite that he has fought to remain merry and loving, rather than turning bitter and hateful because of his torment – we are all guilty of treating him like he were mad, frail, and inept. And it is worse that I have done this._

Estel had pledged his entire existence to Legolas. The Wood-Elf returned his love when the Ranger did not deserve it. He could only offer the duration of his short life when the Elf could have an eternity with another of the Elves. The end of the Adan’s life would likely mean the end of the Prince’s life. Because of this, Aragorn had made many promises to himself to care for Legolas, to stand with him always, to protect him however he could – and yet, Estel’s promises meant nothing if he did not trust his Greenleaf.

The longer he stood still, the more his remorse and concern vexed him. The Ranger began walking again, his intent to rest for a moment to check Kalin’s wounds forgotten, so caught up was he in his pondering. _It is our fault that he has left and mine no less than anyone’s,_ the human railed at himself, for he had been enraged at his lover, calling him selfish and foolish, if only to himself, when before the laegel had been attacked and suffered grief, Estel would never have considered Legolas these things for seeking revenge, for seeking to protect Estel by removing Mithfindl as a threat. If he were in Legolas’ position, he would be doing the very same that Legolas did now. He would do whatever it took to protect the Prince. _Only Thranduil understood, it seems. Legolas has gone to do what he must. He has gone to do what he would have done before ever he suffered. It is only because I think him helpless that I find his actions so irritatingly worrisome. I have been a fool._

These realizations did not ameliorate his anxiety. Although it pained his belly to do so, he began to jog, for in fact, he was even more eager to return to find Legolas. It wasn’t long after this and he wasn’t yet to the outpost when the patrol happened to see his coming from their flet. He did not see or hear their approach but they made haste to him, for the Imladrian guards knew just who the Ranger was, of course, and as he advanced upon where they stalked through the woods, one of them called out, “Estel!”

Relieved to be found, the Ranger stopped. He felt the sentry in his arms began to slide again and tried to shift him for a better hold, but before he could renew his grip on the slithering sentry, two of the sentinels came from seemingly nowhere and latched onto Kalin to remove the Silvan. With great care, they laid the sentry out upon the soggy ground for now.

“What happened to him?” the third Elf asked as he came out from behind a thicket and towards the Ranger.

With a heavy sigh, Aragorn stretched his aching arms and adjusted his broadsword upon his waist. Their timing was perfect, for despite that Kalin’s weight was slight, Aragorn was quite sure that he would not have been able to carry the Wood-Elf for much longer without dropping him. “He fell into a ravine filled with stakes, near the Trollshaws.”

Estel knew all three of these Elves by the sound of their voices but at the moment could not seem to place any of their names, so fatigued was he. It wasn’t until they pushed back their hoods that he saw who they were. Similar in stature and appearance, two of the Elves were Noldorin brothers by the names of Camthalion and Gwindor, while the third was a Sindarin Elf named Aerandir, who had been in Elrond’s service since before the Last Homely House was ever built.

With a fond frown for Kalin, who was the only one amongst Legolas’ friends and family who treated the Prince with a modicum of the respect that he deserved, the Ranger continued in quiet reverence, “He pushed his Prince to safety but could not save himself from the stakes at the bottom of the ravine. His side is pierced through, though it did not impale his vital organs – just his flesh.”

Many of the Imladrians did not think kindly of the Silvan in Mirkwood; the Imladrians who thought Thranduil’s people to be barbaric and wild tended to be the scholars and nobles of the valley. The same was not true for most of the sentinels and guards of Imladris, with Mithfindl being the most outspoken exception to this. The Imladrian guard tended to have the utmost respect for the Wood-Elves, since they esteemed the Silvan’s fierceness and adeptness in staving off the Darkness that plagued the Greenwood. The Imladrian warriors knew what it took to protect one’s home and kith on a daily basis, while many of the Noldorin Elves in the Last Homely House and surrounding houses had forgotten what it meant to wage war every day. Thranduil had his own minor magic, yes, but he had no ring of power, as did Elrond or the Lady of the Golden Wood in Lothlórien. Brute force protected the Greenwood and her people.

Indeed, the three Elves who surrounded Kalin looked now upon the sentry with greater respect upon hearing that Kalin earned his wound by sacrificing himself for his Prince. Each of them would gladly give their lives for their own Lord, who though not royalty as was Legolas, was just as beloved.

“And the Prince?” Aerandir asked fretfully. “Where is he? He was not hurt, was he? Lord Glorfindel sent word to all patrol to be on the lookout for you, Lords Elladan and Elrohir, and for Prince Legolas, and to aid all of you in any way that you ask. Although the search for Mithfindl was called off, we have kept watch for him, anyway,” the Sinda alluded, “to detain for trying to poison King Thranduil.”

 _Glorfindel shirked Ada’s edict to remove the Imladrian patrol from the situation,_ the Ranger thought with a fleeting smile. His knees popping and his back twinging at the effort, the human knelt down beside Kalin, affectionately pushed the sentry’s hair from his face, and then checked the blood-soaked bandaging upon his side. _That is very unlike Glorfindel._

The Ranger felt his relief to be amongst friends dissipate as he answered, “Legolas is still in the forest; I search for him. I found Kalin injured and so brought him here so that you can return him to the valley. I cannot tend to his wounds properly and he needs to be taken to my father at once, but nor can I stop searching for Greenleaf.”

By now, all in Rivendell knew that Elrond’s human foster son and the Prince of Mirkwood were lovers; and so, it was with sympathy that the three Elves looked upon Estel. He turned his face away from their pity. _They likely think me mad for chasing after Legolas. They know nothing or very little of what Legolas has endured over the last several months. They wonder why I think I can help the Prince to capture a single Elf, when they know that Legolas is stronger, faster, and more experienced than I am. And they are right, are they not?_ he asked himself. 

“Is the Prince on Mithfindl’s trail, then? We can go to aid the Prince in tracking him down,” Gwindor offered, his hand upon the hilt of his sword and his body tensing, as if at ready to begin running this very moment to be of assistance.

The Ranger was quite certain that word of what had transpired between Mithfindl and Legolas was unknown to those outside Elrond and Thranduil’s closest circle of kith, but the Imladrian guards needed no explanation as to why the Prince would be hunting for the Noldo who had perpetrated what they thought to be an assassination attempt against the King. By their thinking, Legolas hunted Mithfindl only to seek revenge on his father’s behalf. Estel did not disavow them of their assumptions.

He considered this for a moment. _If I accept their help to aid me in finding Legolas, I may only exacerbate Greenleaf’s sorrow. Should he have killed Mithfindl, to have an audience while he fades might only facilitate his passing. If he has not killed Mithfindl, if Mithfindl has him,_ the Ranger cogitated, a dire shiver of hate and disgust coursing through him at the thought of the silver-haired Noldo being in possession of the Prince, _then Greenleaf will either be dead already or he will be wishing he were dead. I would not have these three – noble and kind though they may be – to bear witness to the depravities forced upon Legolas._ In the end, he decided according to what he thought that his lover would want.

The rain had picked up again. The thunderheads that thus far had remained close to the Misty Mountains were slithering farther west towards the foothills. Eventually, the heaviest of the rains might even make it out as far as where Estel was now. He had been soaked through for days now without reprieve. His belly hurt so badly that the human wondered if he would even make it to the pond in the Trollshaws before he collapsed from exhaustion, hunger, and sickness.

“Estel?” Gwindor prompted when the Ranger did not answer. “What would you have us do?”

Realizing that he had closed his eyes and had been ignoring them, the exhausted human shook his head in negation of the Noldo’s offer. Trying to convince himself more than them, the human told the three Elves, “Legolas has found and slain Mithfindl, I am sure of it. No, I will find Legolas to make certain that he is uninjured, to take him back to the valley. Besides, with one of you gone home to take Kalin that leaves only two of you to keep watch here. If Legolas is injured or if he has captured rather than killed Mithfindl, then I may return for aid.”

The two Noldor and Sinda looked between them. Estel had grown up amongst the Firstborn; he was well acquainted with their indecipherable gazes. However, he knew exactly what the three sentinels were deciding amongst themselves at that moment – they were deciding whether to accept his choice or make their own. Aragorn was accustomed to being second-guessed by the Elves in Imladris. They had all known him since he was a toddler and often thought of him as a child still. After several moments, Aerandir nodded slightly though he looked at Kalin while doing so.

“We have only one horse between the three of us,” Camthalion told him, explaining though Estel was aware of how the patrols sparingly kept horses out in the borders. Horses were too precious a commodity to lose to the many natural predators that roamed the outlying lands. “But we can do as you ask.”

 _Thank Ilúvatar I won’t have to waste time arguing with them._ Unthinkingly, the human pressed his hand against the burning throb of his belly and then nearly doubled over at the intense pain that this simple action caused. _I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for it today._

“Perhaps instead of us taking Kalin, you had best take the horse to find the Prince?” Aerandir suggested as he knelt down beside Estel, who still knelt beside Kalin. The Sinda was digging through a satchel, throwing items onto the floor of the forest, until he happened upon for what he looked – Aerandir pulled out a cloak from the bag and immediately began ripping the clean, dry cloth into strips so that they could change the blood-soaked bandaging over Kalin’s torso. The wound would never scab over if it remained damp. He told Aragorn as he began pulling free the old bandages, “I know Kalin. I have sparred with him on the fields, eaten and drank with him, and went hunting with him over the many years he has accompanied his Prince to the valley. I am certain that he would rather Prince Legolas have aid than have it himself.”

Although he knew that Aerandir was right since Kalin was already upset with him for not leaving him in the tree and going directly to Legolas, and although he was nearly in a panic with the need to ascertain his lover’s well-being, the Ranger had only just been thinking of how he needed to trust Legolas to see to his own welfare. _It would be quicker to ride to the pond, but I would risk Kalin’s life in taking his only means of reaching Imladris._

Before he could think through this offer, Gwindor argued, reminding Estel of his main obstruction to reaching Legolas, “The river is flooding the banks. Estel would have to backtrack to the Ford to cross. It would take just as long if not longer than if he were just to run it and swim the river.”

This bit of logic decided the matter for Aragorn, though then he had to wonder, _As Kalin said earlier, I may still have to backtrack to the Ford if the Bruinen has engorged any more than it was when I swam it before dawn today. Regardless, though, I have not brought Kalin here only to let him die waiting for conveyance to the valley._ Where he knelt upon the muddied, wet ground, the Adan rubbed at his tired eyes and then held his head in his hands.

“Perhaps you should rest a while,” Camthalion told him. As most of the Elves of Imladris were wont to do, the three Elves around him were interested in keeping Estel healthy and safe, since he was their Lord’s fostered son, and although they had little concept of human frailty, they could see that Aragorn was shattered. “Eat, drink, and then sleep for an hour or two. Once we have done what we can for Kalin, Gwindor will take him to the House.”

“Yes, come back to the talan, if only for a few hours.” Gwindor held his hand out to pull Aragorn from the forest floor. He watched tiredly as Camthalion hefted Kalin into his grasp with Aerandir’s help in settling the Wood-Elf’s arms comfortably upon his chest; Gwindor pulled the leather satchel from Estel’s back to carry, as though he were not taking no for an answer. “At least come eat. You look like you are in need of a hot meal and perhaps some wine. Aerandir has just finished roasting several pheasant he hunted this morning.”

 _Even if I stay an hour to eat, the Bruinen will grow no more suicidal to swim across in one hour._ The Ranger sighed heavily and nodded his agreement.

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 _I may drown in here,_ the laegel thought somewhat franticly. He laughed in delirious amusement, _It is only a matter of time._ The Elf tried again to sit down. He could not see the foul smelling water, but it felt thick and filthy against the bare skin of his chest. He could not keep it from soaking into his trousers, of course, and so he sat amidst the bones of dead things, the unidentifiable debris, and the reeking liquid. _My choice is hurried,_ the Prince told himself, huddling slightly over the phial he held, afraid that it would slip from his wet fingers and be lost in the growing pool around him. _Now I only choose whether to wait to drown or die now without pain._

He stared into the utter darkness, as if able to see around him. He did not know from where the water in which he was currently trapped originated, but the laegel considered that the cesspool in which he sat could be connected to the pond via underground means. The pond itself was replenished by the foothills surrounding it, for it sat in a bowl of sorts and the runoff from the hills in the shaws ended up emptying into the pond. The incessant rain was coming off the hills and swelling the pond just as it was swelling the Bruinen; he thought that it must also be increasing the groundwater by which the pond joined to the cesspool, since the fetid water around him seemed to be rising.

_Kalin is alone in the woods, injured and dying, if he is not dead already. Because I have run from the valley, Estel is out in the woods searching for me, likely on his own, and a target for Mithfindl’s hate. I was foolish enough to think that I could do this. I was foolish to think that I was more than just a weakling._

Just as the floor of the pit slanted downwards towards the water-filled opening at its very rear, so too did the cavern floor above slant downwards. From the trickles of water that were falling onto him from overhead, the Prince concluded that the pond was swelling to the point that small rivulets were forming along its banks. One such rivulet had followed the path of least resistance by flooding over the lowest part of the pond’s shoreline, which happened to be leading that runoff from the flooded pond right into the cave, and thus right into his cesspit. He had no means of knowing if his suppositions were right, but given his luck as of late, Legolas thought it likely.

The Wood-Elf thought he might go mad. Being that his hellhole was lightless, he had no concept of time. It felt to him as if he had been trapped inside this pit for days upon end, when in truth, Legolas had been trapped for about a day and half.

 _You are a whore,_ spoke the malignant voice – his voice, the part of him that agreed with the merchants, with his drunken father, with Mithfindl; the voice that hated him, wanted him to suffer, that doubted his every thought and action; the voice that disbelieved that Estel loved him and claimed that Estel desired only Legolas’ shameful body as had Kane, Sven, Cort, and now Mithfindl. _You are weak. You are nothing. You should not have fought Mithfindl. You should have just spread your legs and let him use you._

While he could not quiet the voice nor ignore it, the Elf tried not to argue with it. Already he felt to be losing his mind. Worsening his tenuous grasp upon sanity was that Legolas could not get comfortable. The standing water was rising, yes, and because of it, he could not sit on the rocky, debris lined floor of the cesspool without his body floating just above the floor, which meant that he could not even slip into reverie to relieve him of the voice’s torment.

 _You are a whore,_ it kept telling him. _Why would you not just let him spill his seed inside you as you have let the others sully your revolting flesh?_

Since the scar itself did not exist, the Wood-Elf could not gouge at it as he had once done to quiet the fell voice. He was already in pain, so the general aches of his body were doing nothing to help quell its opinion. So easily had the malignant voice returned to him, so simply had it overtaken his mind, and so quickly had it undermined his self-worth that he found himself agreeing with every word it said. When the Prince had been under the thrall of the periapt, he had felt caged and unable to die. Now, he was in a physical cage without the impediment of the periapt and still he could not die. Whereas when he and Kalin had first left the valley the Prince had been on the brink of willingly releasing his faer from rhaw, now Legolas could not find it within himself to die. The fear he felt for Aragorn kept him awake, aware, and alive, it seemed. Even as hopeless as he felt, his terror that Mithfindl would hurt his beloved Ranger forced him to endure. But he did not want to die in this pit, where there were no stars to shine upon him, no sun to warm his skin, no trees to lull his Silvan soul to sleep with their verdant berceuse, and no news of his human lover’s welfare.

 _If you had let Mithfindl use you again, you would not be in this pit. Estel would not now be hunted, for Mithfindl would be too busy tormenting you,_ the voice reasoned.

Despite his attempts to ignore it, Legolas had to admit that the scar was right in part. Twice already Mithfindl had defiled him, so what would it have mattered had it happened again? _You serve no purpose except as a whore. The merchants’ whore, the Ranger’s whore, and then Mithfindl’s whore. Without someone’s shaft inside you, you serve no purpose. You are useless._

He could take it no more.

 _I will quiet you,_ he told the voice.

Mithfindl had given the Wood-Elf the means to end this suffering. Legolas broke the wax seal around the top of one of the phials, uncorked it, and before he could change his mind, imbibed the entire container of the poppy milk in one long, greedy gulp.


	8. Chapter 8

“Estel?” came a voice beside him.

At once, the Ranger was awake. Estel opened his eyes to see a dark-haired, grey-eyed Noldorin Elf crouched beside him – it was Camthalion, and seeing this Noldo was all he required to set his mind in order, knowing just where he was, what he was about, and what he had to do now that he was awake. He flung his feet over the edge of the hammock and stood. When young, Estel had never wanted to leave his bed in the morning and never wanted to get into it at night. Often he would stay abed long past the dawn while trying to stay up as late as possible – at least until his Elven brothers or Ada took to forcing him into bed at a normal time and then took to rousing him early in the morning. Years of travelling in the wilds had changed that lazy habit, such that the Ranger could waken at the slightest noise and required only a moment to gain his senses.

“Here,” Camthalion told the Ranger as he passed him a skin of wine. “I’ve filled your waterskin, added some extra venison jerky to your pack, and given you the rest of the pheasant and bread, wrapped in oilcloth to keep them from getting too soggy, I hope. I thought when you find the Prince that he might be hungry.”

As he took the skin with a grateful nod for the Noldo’s thoughtfulness, the Ranger looked for Kalin to ascertain that the sentry was still alive and well, but while Estel was asleep, Gwindor had already left with Kalin to take him to the Last Homely House by horseback. Earlier, after eating the freshly roasted pheasant and drinking some of the wine that he’d been offered, Aragorn reluctantly laid down for a brief spell of sleep. It was only with Camthalion’s promise to wake him in an hour’s time and because he’d been dead on his feet that he agreed to sleep at all. He knew that he would be no good to Legolas if he passed out from exhaustion before ever reaching him. He had not thought it possible that he would actually sleep, however, for his worry for his Silvan lover was now paramount to all else, especially now that Kalin’s well-being was out of his hands. And yet, so tired had he been that once his eyes had closed, Aragorn fell deeply into some much needed slumber.

“Thank you,” he said aloud to the Noldo sentry once he’d had his fill of the wine.

Camthalion had already wandered off to return to his post, where he would stand as lookout over the southern regions to keep watch for Orcs, raiders, or other kinds of trouble that might find its way north to the valley. Aerandir was scouting the area, as was the Imladrian sentries’ usual routine, with one or two of the sentries out in the vicinity while one stood watch in the flet. Scattered through the rocky land east of this post were small farms and vineyards owned by those who were under Elrond’s protection and guidance, who helped to provide food and wine for the Last Homely House and her inhabitants. Mithfindl’s father owned one such vineyard not too far away, the Ranger knew. This small winery had already been searched by Glorfindel’s patrol for Mithfindl but the human thought of it now as he capped the skin of wine.

 _It was all because of Thranduil’s love of wine that he let Mithfindl try to befriend him._ It was uncharitable to blame Thranduil for what had transpired but the irritable human was in the mood to blame everyone – being sick had that effect on him. _Had Thranduil not been keen to drink Mithfindl’s wine, the periapt would never have been placed upon him._ With a sigh and on second thought, the Ranger uncapped the skin and took another long swig of the sweet wine he’d been given. _So many small details had to fall exactly as they did for us all to end up where we are now. If Legolas was not so kind and forgiving, he would have turned Mithfindl away that night in his father’s rooms. If I had followed Greenleaf to his father’s rooms as I promised that I would, then Mithfindl would never have gotten close to the King’s chambers._ He once more capped the skin of wine and sat it on the hammock behind him, then grabbed his broadsword as he prepared to leave. _I am beginning to think that all of these awful occurrences are Ilúvatar’s judgment against Legolas for merely being born. Already he has lived a hard life in which still he has somehow found joy, but after these last few months and especially after this last week, I cannot imagine how Greenleaf will ever find joy again._

The Ranger tried to turn his mind away from these dark musings. Before laying down to slumber, Estel had requested that Gwindor tell Elrond that the human was continuing his search for Legolas and that he knew just where he had gone and thus where Mithfindl could be found. In doing so, he hoped that should something happen, such that Legolas or he be killed or injured, that his foster father would know where to look for them. He had made certain to explain to Gwindor that the route to take for those whom his father sent would be the path along the river, as once he found the Prince, if Legolas was alive or if injured but could be moved, Estel would try to return to the valley by the same route so that they could be intercepted along their way.

 _I hope Gwindor remembers to pass on my message about taking the river path._ The human stretched, unthinking of the wound to his belly, but soon remembered it when his movements tore at the healing flesh upon his torso, causing him to moan and hunch over at once as if to protect this tender area.

“Estel?” Camthalion queried softly, his somber head tilted to the side in question.

He looked to the sky to gauge the time. “It’s nothing but a small wound,” he explained to Camthalion, not wanting to admit to the sentry that he was feverish with infection. “It hasn’t quite healed.”

But the Noldo seemed to know already. Camthalion walked to an oilcloth sack that hung from the roof and rummaged around in it ere he pulled out what he sought. “Here.” The Noldo held out to the human a bladder small enough that he could close his hand around it and hide it from view, while telling him, “Take this with you, Estel. I know nothing of human sickness, but I can see that you have a fever. I would tell you to return to your father for medicines, but I know you will not until you find the Prince. This might suffice for now.”

Curious, the Ranger accepted the small bladder. He removed the cork to smell what he’d been handed. _Miruvor,_ he knew as he caught the scent of the wonderfully fragrant cordial within the container. The border patrol usually kept minor healing supplies for emergent situations but he was surprised to find that Camthalion had miruvor on hand. The Ranger would have taken a gulp of the cordial now but did not desire for Camthalion to know how greatly in need of the miruvor he felt to be.

“Thank you,” he said again to the Noldo. Aragorn smiled at the sentry, who had already returned his attention to his task of watching out over the lands around them and so did not see. “If I find…” he began but amended quickly, “When I find Greenleaf, he might need this.”

“Do not worry,” the Noldorin sentry assuaged the Ranger, giving him a fleeting look before once again he was gazing out over the lands that were his to keep safe, “By this time tomorrow, Lord Glorfindel and perhaps even Lord Elrond himself will already be in route to fetch you and the Prince.”

If he knew his Ada, and he was usually fairly adept at guessing what his father was thinking, the moment that Gwindor arrived with Kalin and the news that Estel had sent, the Peredhel would dispatch sentinels out to bring his wayward Silvan son and willful human son back home to the valley. It would not matter how Thranduil felt about the matter. Legolas had been given his chance: whether he succeeded or not, Elrond would want to take control of the situation. He doubted his father would come to fetch them – at least, not until the Peredhel had taken care of Kalin himself, more than likely.

“You are right, of course,” he agreed. The Ranger looked about him to ensure that he had all that he needed. “Thank you,” he said a third time to Camthalion.

“It is my duty and my pleasure, Estel. Drink the miruvor,” the sentry suggested, not looking away from his task, “and run as fast as you can. And please, try not to drown in the river, if you can,” Camthalion advised with a sardonic chortle.

Despite his anxiety, his sickness, and his fear for Legolas, the Ranger laughed at this sagacious advice. Hours earlier, he had joked to Kalin that they ought not to drown, if they could help it, with the same caliginous mirth. “I will try my best.”

For a moment, the Noldo looked to Aragorn, his sympathetic gaze leaving the forested lands outside the flet to focus upon the Ranger inside. His merriment was now sobered as he said, “May Elbereth guide your way, Estel. I hope you find your Greenleaf alive and well.”

The Ranger only nodded, for his throat had grown tight, tears sprang to his eyes, and he could find no words to respond to this heartfelt sentiment. He climbed down the rope ladder from the flet to the ground of the forest, his clothes becoming drenched almost immediately from the torrential, never-ending rain, and began jogging towards the river to the north. With food in his belly, his thirst slaked, and a full hour of uninterrupted rest, the Adan felt much better than he had since leaving the valley.

He jogged until he was out of sight of the tall maple tree and the vigilant sentry within; the human paused to rest his back against the trunk of a larch and pulled the small skin of miruvor out of his tunic’s pocket. Since he had not wanted Camthalion to know just how much he needed the invigorative properties of the cordial, the Ranger had needed to wait before imbibing the drink. Although he was not yet at the point of collapse now that he had taken rest and food, the Ranger did not want to wait until he was exhausted before using the miruvor, for it would speed him along his way to the river, across it, and to his lover beyond.

 _I am coming,_ he told Legolas, speaking once more to the Elf as if the Prince could hear him. Aragorn looked at the skin of miruvor, pulled another nip from it, and then carefully recapped it before putting it back in his tunic’s pocket and then buttoning the pocket closed. _I am coming, Greenleaf. Just hold on. I am coming for you, my love, I promise._

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Legolas dreamt. He dreamt of his Naneth and of her beautiful, kind smile. He dreamt of her laughter, which was low and tumbling, and always reminded him of the wind chimes that hung on his balcony at home – the balcony that had once been hers. He dreamt of the feel of her hands as they caressed his face, as they had so often done. He dreamt of his father before his Queen had died. Thranduil had once caressed his son’s face with the same love, had often hugged him, and had sat him upon his lap while seated in his throne to let the young Elfling play with his crown or muss his robes, all to have him near while he sat through hours of council meetings and pleas from his people. His Adar used to come to his room when he was an Elfling to read him stories, to tell Legolas of the grandfather he’d never known, and share with him memories of Greenwood as it had been ere Thranduil became its king.

He dreamt of Elrond. He dreamt of how his Minyatar would push the laegel’s hair behind his ears while giving him the paternal, loving smile that the Wood-Elf had come to depend on for its strength and unconditional love. When he’d felt he did not belong or was not wanted in his own home, he had always known that he could come to the Last Homely House and be welcomed. He dreamt of Elladan and Elrohir. He dreamt of the many years of their friendship, of how they had learnt together, played together, and often endured the same lectures together for some minor misdeed. He dreamt of his twin friends and of how despite that Elladan and Elrohir were as close as two siblings could possibly be since they had shared the same womb, they never made Legolas feel as if he was anything but their true brother, as if they were brothers by blood and not just by choice. He even dreamt of Kalin. He dreamt of going hunting with his sentry, of the times that they had chased down Orcs and deer and rabbit. He dreamt of traversing the woods with Kalin, of sharing stories with him, of playing stones and cards and sitting upon his balcony, talking for hours of nothing and everything after his father had thrown the twins and Ranger from the Woods and Legolas had lost three of his closest friends during his most dire time of need, only to realize that he had another valued friend in Kalin.

But mostly, he dreamt of Estel. He dreamt of the man’s bewhiskered face, of his kind silver eyes, and his wayward, curly hair. He dreamt of the Adan as a child still full of wonder and innocence. Over the course of Aragorn’s life, Legolas had spent as much time as possible with the human to watch him grow, and these memories came to him one by one. He dreamt of how the Ranger’s lips would slowly curl into a smile when he tried to hide his amusement, of how Estel’s forehead would wrinkle in surprise as one of his eyebrows lifted in unwitting imitation of Elrond, and of how he would throw his head back to laugh at his twin Elven foster brothers when they entertained him with some ribald joke. He dreamt of the first time that he and the Adan had found pleasure together in the brook near the twins’ campsite. He dreamt of the first time that Estel had spilled his seed inside him and of how he had never felt anything as fine as lying with his lover after they had finished their pleasure, their bodies joined as the human’s shaft slowly relaxed within him.

There were no merchants here, no wine barrels, no being tied to a tree, no lying in a pool of his own blood in his bathing tub, no beatings from his father, and certainly no Mithfindl. He felt no pain. He felt no fear. So pleasant were these dreams that the Prince had no intention of waking. He would happily die caught in these wonderful memories that replayed in his mind.

When Legolas’ body slipped from where he had been reclined against the pit’s wall, his head submerged beneath the surface of the fetid water, and his next breath was not air but the foul scum in which he sat. Had this happened an hour earlier, the Elf would have still been too far gone under the milk of the poppy’s narcosis to have awoken. Legolas would never have known that he was breathing in the cesspool instead of air; he would have drowned without ever waking. It would have been a far more peaceful end to his life than what he faced upon rousing, however. But the poppy had worn off enough that when his lungs filled with the mephitic water, Legolas clambered up, his body instinctively coughing out the foul liquid. He climbed to his feet, while his mind was not yet able to decipher where his dreams ended and reality began.

The absolute darkness of the pit caused him to reel in confusion. So incongruent was this reality –wet, filthy, his body aching and his mouth filled with dirt and sour water, his head pounding and his feet and hands numb – with the sweetness of his dreams that Legolas at first thought he was caught in a nightmare. He had forgotten where he was and why he was there. The Prince stumbled around the dark and enclosed, stagnant cesspool, until he tripped over the skull of some poor soul that was once a Troll’s meal, struck his already bruised and bleeding forehead against the rock wall, and fell to his knees with a grunt.

 _I am in the cave,_ he thought numbly. _In the pit at the back of the cave. Mithfindl threw me into it,_ his mind was slow to supply to him. At once, all the pleasant memories and dreams were forgotten as he realized that he was indeed caught in a nightmare, but this nightmare was very much real. _No,_ he rued, tears springing to his eyes as all the events that he’d forgotten while lost in dreams now returned to him upon his wakening. _I wanted only to die. Why have I not died?_

In desperation and on the brink of madness, the laegel struck the sheer rock wall with his hands hard enough to hurt himself. Already his fingers were cut nearly to the bone from where he and Mithfindl had fought over the dagger; now, he had fractured on his right hand the two smallest of his fingers. The pain was distant because of the poppy but he knew what he had done even without being able to see his hand, for those two fingers stuck out oddly and no longer bent at his behest. Being that his right hand was his dominant hand, he ought to have worried that these broken fingers needed to be set so they would heal properly and not ruin his ability to hold his long knife or use his bow. Legolas found that he did not care. At this rate, he would never be free of the pit for these fingers to be of use to him, anyway.

 _There is another phial. I have one more phial to drink. Perhaps then, I can die,_ he recalled, his anxiety lightening with the knowledge. _There is hope still._

As he fumbled around his tomb to find the protrusion in the wall – the protrusion upon which he’d abraded his rope binds free, the protrusion upon which he’d stored his second phial of poppy milk – his benumbed and injured hands dragged across the remnants of his tunic in which the phial was ensconced, knocking the tunic and the phial within into the water at his feet. He heard the splash as the glass phial fell into the thick, stagnant water nearby. Even then, so caught up in the effects of the poppy tincture was he that he felt around the protrusion for the phial he believed to be there, for his harried mind was unwilling to accept that he might have just ruined his only chance at a peaceful death. After a few moments of feeling every bit of the outcrop, he fell to his knees again, the bones and rocks under his knees cutting into his flesh.

 _No, please,_ he begged any being willing to lend him the aid in finding his only salvation. _I cannot have lost it. I have to find it._ In absolute panic, the Wood-Elf began to search through the water for the lost phial.

He had drunk the entire first phial and still felt its effects. The milk of the poppy was devious in that if one used it often – or misused it, as was sometimes the case – then its effects lessened and more was required to alleviate pain. Before Mithfindl’s drugging of him, just a small amount would have worked upon Legolas, but after days of being dosed with the poppy and because it lingered still in his system, the one phial had not been enough to kill him or put him into a deep sleep for very long, even though it had been more than what Mithfindl had given Thranduil to send him into a sleep that had lasted a couple of days.

If he had drunk both phials to begin, he might have imbibed enough to kill him outright. Legolas had not taken his gradual tolerance of the poppy medicine into account, though. He had drunk the first phial expecting it to be sufficient. To die painlessly, pleasantly, and in his sleep, he needed the second phial. If he drank the phial right now, he might fall back into sleep and never awaken. And now, he had lost the phial.

The laegel was on the verge of becoming hysteric. Taken by panic, he did not search methodically or slowly, but shoved and pushed the decaying corpses and bones around, scattered the clinging, wet leaves and who knew what else, and likely only buried the glass phial under this mess or shattered it by his frantic search. For what seemed like hours to him, the Elf sifted through the foul water.

 _You cannot even kill yourself properly. You fail at even the simplest of tasks,_ the fell voice told him. The scar’s opinion stopped his search at once. The laegel plopped down into the water, tired and bereft, to listen to the vociferations as they opined, _For your idiocy, you deserve to starve to death in this hole._

For a while longer, the Elf sat there in misery. Determined to die, the Prince tried a different method. He tried to conjure up the same feeling that he had experienced off and on for months now – the yearning to hew his faer from rhaw. Legolas tried to remember how Mithfindl had tied him, beaten him, and defiled him, laughing at the Prince all the while, or how Kane, Sven, and Cort had taken their turns with him, covering him in their vile seed, threatening to geld him, or tearing his innermost flesh with the wine bottle, or how his father had blamed him for all of it, of how he had called his son a whore, thought him to be a degenerate, and had pummeled the Prince into the ground, at ready to kill him out of disgust for him. Purposively, the Silvan sought to rend his faer and rhaw through recollecting the last few months of his life and all the horrid events that had happened to him.

For an Elf, releasing one’s faer from rhaw was a relatively simple matter, if the Elf in question truly desired death, and was only physically painful when the Elf’s faer was reluctant to depart or was cleaving from its rhaw due to staggering depths of sorrow. And yet, each time Legolas brought to the front of his mind the many reasons that made him want to die – his torment, both physical and emotional, his betrayal of and betrayal by his friends and family, his befouled and broken body – he saw instead Estel’s face. The thought of Mithfindl touching the human, of harming him in any way, of killing Aragorn, kept the Prince’s faer firmly in place within his rhaw. His love and care for Estel would not allow him to die so easily, it seemed.

 _The only way you will die is by starving slowly to death. Your only hope,_ the vindictive voice taunted him, _is if Mithfindl returns for you. You will eagerly spread your legs for him if he pulls you out of this pit, won’t you?_

Truly enough, the Prince might promise Mithfindl anything if he got him out of this cesspit, but whether he kept that promise was a different matter.

 _I cannot just sit here. I will not wait to die. If I starve to death, then I will do so having exhausted all possibilities of escape,_ the Wood-Elf promised himself, though this oath felt empty to him.

Suddenly, Legolas realized something that had escaped his intoxicated notice since awakening. When he’d fallen into sleep some indeterminable time ago, the level of the water had only been as high as his knees when he stood. Now kneeling, the water was almost higher than his chin. The Elf stood to gauge how far it had risen in comparison to before only to find that it was now past his waist. The steady trickle from earlier was now a torrent as water came over the side of the precipice overhead; the pond was overflowing its shore and  swamping the low lying land around it. Moreover, water coming from the underground source through the opening at the back of the pit in which he was stuck was increasing the level of the stagnant water of the pit, as well.

 _I was right. The pond is flooding,_ he thought somewhat deliriously. Yes, he was resigned to dying. To think that he might now drown was an unpleasant thought in comparison to dying peacefully in his sleep, but without the poppy milk and unable to die of his own will, he could only wait to see which killed him first – thirst, starvation, or the rising water. He wasn’t sure whether to be happy about the notion of drowning before he had the chance to starve.

 _The pond is flooding,_ he thought again, though this time he tried to force his wayward, disarrayed thoughts into focusing upon this observation. _If the water keeps rising…_ he tried to reason out. _If it rises, I will rise. If it rises enough I may be able to get free._ From the bottom of the pit, the ledge overhead was five times his height. He had tried to stand on the protrusion the day before to see if he could jump to reach the ledge, but the outcrop was barely taller than the floor and since it was the only mar in the sheer face of the pit’s wall, it offered no benefit. But if the level of water inside the pit rose, then he might be able to float to the top.

His body aching and his mind tired, despite the hours of sleep he’d just had, the Elf tried to sit back down. _I suppose it depends on how long it takes the water to rise to a high enough level for me to climb out. I do not know how long I have been in here. It could have been days already, or perhaps I have gone mad and it has been only hours._ The Elf laughed manically, but then quieted himself when he realized how much like Mithfindl his laughter sounded. _Only time will tell which will kill me, then._

With a sigh that came from the bottommost depths of his chest, Legolas rested his temple against the wall to his side. Unaware that he did so, the Prince once more fell into a reverie made deeper by the poppy tincture he’d earlier taken, while the rising water lapped at the underside of his chin. 


	9. Chapter 9

Once again, the laegel awoke from a pleasant, dream-filled sleep to the foul taste of the cesspit’s water; once again, he did not know where he was or why he was there. He could hear the howl of the wind, the thunder as it clapped overhead, the constant trickling of water, and the steady patter of a lashing rain. As he coughed and retched up the liquid that filled his mouth and barred his breathing, the Prince’s first thought was to wonder why he was lying in a puddle. He tried to turn on his side so that he could rise, but upon rolling with his arm out to push himself from the ground, the poppy-addled Elf’s elbow slid right through the surface of the water and found no solidity underneath, such that he merely rolled face down into the pool.

He came up above the surface, his mouth and throat filled yet again with the mephitic water that occupied the cesspit. Still under the influence of the tincture and confused by the utter darkness, Legolas thrashed at the water to stay afloat, with his legs threshing under him to try to find the ground, as well, until he hit the wall of the pit; the two broken fingers upon his hand were twisted during this and the pain ended his confusion summarily, for with that pain he recalled the cause of his broken fingers, the reason he had broken them, and then all the events of the last week came back to him in a flash of memory as brilliant as the lightning that streaked across the sky outside the cavern – lightning that he could not even see, so secluded was his watery grave.

As if Ilúvatar had been watching out for the stricken Wood-Elf, when the pond’s overflow and the underground water increased inside the pit, the Prince’s arms had floated to the surface of the pool and his head had slid backwards rather than forwards, such that he ended up floating on his back in the cesspool rather than face down. Legolas never realized his body’s movements during this and only by chance or fate did he manage not to drown, as earlier he’d been too intoxicated and too deep in slumber to wake even had he breathed in the flooding pool’s water.

With his hand upon the pit’s wall, the Elf merely floated in the water, his feet downwards now and his head fully above the surface. He spat out the dirt and debris that he could feel inside his mouth, tried to breathe deeply to calm himself, and rested his forehead against the cool stone. By instinct and because the poppy was wearing off had he awoken just now upon nearly drowning, but the Prince regretted, _If I hadn’t woken, I could have died. It is unfortunate that I awoke._

Since his feet no longer touched the floor and since he did not want to dive into the darkness of the pool to see how far down the ground now lay, he had no concept of how far the water had risen.

“Greenleaf?”

The Wood-Elf’s eyes flew open, his head shot up, and he looked above him, though he could see little to nothing of the cave’s ceiling overhead. _Mithfindl would never call me by my common nickname,_ he speculated.

“Greenleaf?” the being whispered again. The Prince was unwilling to bring himself to call out to the person above him, especially since he could not determine whose voice it was. The cavern’s ceiling began to lighten as something came near.

 _A torch?_ he wondered as the nacreous light increased. _Then surely, it is Mithfindl. Please,_ he prayed, remembering that Mithfindl had promised to return for him once he found and killed Estel, _please do not let him have accomplished this task. Let him have come back to kill me, instead._

Much to his astonishment, however, it was not torchlight that illumined the inside of the pit and ledge above, nor was it Mithfindl. With the same silvery, ethereal, diffuse glow as a bright star obscured by mist, Estel was standing at the edge of the pit. He could see the human clearly. So bright was the Ranger that Legolas closed his eyes from the discomfort that his brilliance caused. He had to look again, to be certain that it was the human, and so the laegel opened his eyes but shielded them against the false light with his hands, as one might protect one’s eyes from the brightness of the sun. The Adan was younger than he was now, wore the tight leggings and long tunic that he’d favored when not quite a grown man, but when Legolas turned away and shifted his hand to block out more of the overwhelming light, Aragorn now had on the drab and dark clothing he typically wore while living in the woods or travelling with the Rangers. When the Wood-Elf blinked again, Estel suddenly appeared as the human had looked when the laegel first met him – a gangly, smiling, and innocent child.

 _I am hallucinating,_ the Prince realized at once. _I have finally lost my wits completely._

Even so, he could not keep himself from calling out, “Estel?”

There was no answer. _Or perhaps I am dreaming again,_ he ruminated. _Just please; let him be a delusion rather than a ghost._

Regardless of whether the Adan was a hallucination or a dream, the laegel began to weep with the simple pleasure of seeing his beloved’s face. He knew that speaking to this phantasm only undermined his already fragile grasp upon reality and spun him ever further towards madness, but he cared no longer. Desperate for the hallucination to be real, Legolas intentionally thrust his head against the wall of the pit – the sharp pang caused by this told him that he did not dream, at least, and if his lover was a hallucination, the Elf welcomed it.

“Estel,” he called out to the Adan, his chest swelling with love for the human. Legolas longed for the imaginary Aragorn to be real. He had thought he would never again see his lover.

The Ranger was holding out his hand to the Elf, who took note of its appearance. As it had been when the Adan was years younger, before he had taken to living most of his days in the wilderness, Estel’s hand was uncalloused, unlined, and clean; before his eyes, though, the hand became the opposite, the callouses and lines and embedded dirt appearing in an instant.

He held his own hand out to Estel to beseech him, “Please, do not leave me. Please stay here with me,” he begged the Adan, his faer’s eagerness to be gone from his rhaw hastened with the potential of dying with his love near him, even if this delusion came only because his mind had shattered under the burden of his torment. Legolas would take whatever comfort he could get. “Stay with me until I die.”

Aragorn only stood there, his being transparent as if he were a sheer curtain flittering in a sunny breeze. He ached to touch the human’s hand, although he knew that his own hand would find nothing there onto which to hold.

“You promised me,” the human whispered.

“I am sorry. I cannot get out,” he tried to explain to the human, who looked once more like the precocious child that he’d once been.

He had no idea what this eidolon Estel was telling him. He had made many promises to the Ranger over the course of their lives. Aragorn only stood there, a gentle smile upon his young face, his now small hand extended out to the Elf. From the dregs of the Prince’s memory came the recollection of just where he had seen the clothes that the human wore now – they were the clothes that Estel had on when first he’d met him in the courtyard of the Last Homely House.

“You said we would go hunting. You said that you loved me,” the child-Estel said, though his voice was that of an old man – perhaps the old man that the Ranger would one day become, if he survived to see those later years of his life. “You promised you would kill Mithfindl to keep me safe.”

The Elf had made that promise to himself, not Estel, but since this hallucination was of his own making, this mattered little. It was at this point that Legolas understood that he had truly gone mad. He tried harder to stretch his hand out to the human, who once more looked as he did in the present day, his long, perpetually disheveled hair hanging down over his whiskered face as he tried to grasp the laegel’s broken fingers.

Seeing Aragorn’s arm along the length of the wall caused the Prince to notice that from where his outstretched fingers ended, the edge of the pit was now less than twice his own height away. Legolas did not know for how long he had been sleeping, but with a start, the Prince realized, _The pit has flooded well over halfway. Unless I am merely hallucinating this, also. The light is not real, so neither is what I see by it._

And yet, the Wood-Elf allowed himself to hope. If the pit had filled this much with water, it might well fill to the top, allowing him to climb out before it was too late.

“He is coming for me,” the apparition of his human lover whispered to him. “Mithfindl hunts me.”

At once, the Wood-Elf’s optimism fled to be replaced by fear. In his many long years, the Prince had felt terror many times over. He had faced hordes of Orcs, waves of spiders, and other beasts that had no names. He had stood in dread as his father began to rant, knowing that soon his father’s fists and feet would begin their bruising work upon him. He had watched in horror as his kith fell from arrows, swords, and the rending of their flesh by spiders, he had viewed in helpless terror as Elladan or Elrohir were injured or surrounded by Orcs with seemingly no chance of escape, and he had endured anxiety each time that Estel became sick from a disease of the Secondborn, was too long in returning from his forays into the wilds, or was injured in even the slightest way. None of this fear compared to what he felt now, for with a certainty that had no origin, Legolas knew that whether the Ranger lived or died today depended upon whether he could climb out of this hole.

“You are right,” he told Aragorn, his normally melodious voice little more than a creaking sough. “I am not dying here like a coward, leaving you to fend for yourself against Mithfindl. I am the reason that Mithfindl hunts you. I came after Mithfindl to keep you safe. I am sorry. I will not break this promise.”

As he quickly blinked his eyes to remove the gathering tears within them, Legolas’ mounting terror for the human wiped the last, confusing traces of the poppy from his mind, seared away his indifference to his own death, and rejuvenated his ambition to be free of this pit. From above, Estel was the young man he had been before he’d become a Ranger – too young to be on his own in the wilds, but old enough to desire such freedom. It was during these years the Prince and Adan had begun making small treks into the lands surrounding the valley; it was during one such trip they had become trapped in a freak snowstorm and had missed the winter solstice festival because of their delayed return.

“I promise you now,” he croaked to the watching, listening mirage, “I will keep you safe from Mithfindl. If it costs me my life, I will gladly pay.”

His fear was his impetus. Had the fear been only for his own life, the Prince would have lain back in the water and let death take him, as he had been trying to do over the last day and half. In fact, for a split second, he still considered letting the water drown him when the castigating voice of his sorrow told him, _Mithfindl has likely already found Estel. Kalin is likely already dead from his wounds. You have brought nothing but suffering to them, to everyone. Your demise will be a relief to those to whom you have not yet managed to bring death. Do not prolong the inevitable._

Legolas fumbled around the wall of the pit with his injured hand in search of the slightest ledge or protrusion that might be advantageous. Before, he would never have been able to use any such handhold this high up since he could not have reached it, but now that the water had risen and thus he had risen with it, he might find one. Despite knowing all this could be just an illusion, Legolas did not stop his search.

 _No,_ he argued with himself. _I cannot lie down to die. I did not somehow survive through being stuck in this hellhole only to give up now that I have a chance to be free of it. I do not know how long I have been in here,_ he railed against himself, _but each moment I waste is a moment that Kalin suffers in the woods alone and Estel is unprotected against Mithfindl. They cannot be dead, neither of them. And if they are, then I will not let their deaths go without reprisal. I will finish what I have started._

The voice argued back, _You do not deserve revenge. You deserve a slow and painful demise. You deserve to have the only person who could possibly love your befouled and impure body, your weak mind and broken spirit, to be taken from you. By now, Mithfindl will have broken Estel as he broke you,_ the lingering odium from the healed scar inveighed. _He will have tortured Estel. It is what your Ranger deserves for being fool enough to love you._

Legolas might have lost his mind. He might truly deserve to die in this pit as penance for any wrongs he had committed and those that he had allowed to be done. Indeed, he knew that he did not deserve Estel, for the human gave of himself unconditionally when others would have long since rescinded their love for the mad, revolting laegel. However, of one thing the Prince was certain – the Ranger deserved better than death by Mithfindl’s violent hands. Moreover, Legolas would no more listen to the scar speak ill of Estel than he would listen to anyone else do it.

In a scream of pent up rage, Legolas bellowed, “Enough! I will listen to you no more!”

The sound of his shout resounded throughout the cavern, startling the laegel with the echoing force of his own vehemence. He knew that his faer and mind were ruined – perhaps beyond repair – but his rhaw was still ready to do its work. For a moment, Legolas floundered there in the water when he understood that the light of his hallucination of Estel was now absent. He was cast into absolute darkness again. More importantly, though, he realized that something was missing from him. For months now, since first the scar upon his leg was made by a broken branch when Sven and Cort tried to pull him from a tree, the laegel had felt a foreign essence meandering through his emotions, tugging at his every thought, and undermining his own will. Over the past two months, prior to being abused by Mithfindl under the guise of Estel and hearing the scar’s voice during this incident, Legolas had heard nothing from the mar; however quiet it had been, the Prince had always known that it might return. As he floated in the nauseating water of what he had thought would be his tomb, Legolas was stunned to realize that he feared the voice no longer. Just like its physical manifestation, its hold over his mind, body, and faer was suddenly gone, as was his fear of its reoccurrence.

He took no time to ponder this. Over the many years of their hunting Orcs and traversing the wilds together, the laegel had felled enemies who had been on the verge of striking down his human friend. He had once pulled Estel out from under a horse that had nearly stamped upon him. When the Adan was a child, the Prince had sheltered Aragorn in his arms during a storm to keep the youth warm. He had saved Estel’s life before as had the Ranger saved his, but for the most part, except for when he had submitted to the merchants’ torture to keep Estel safe, each time had been chance or opportunity. Now, though, the Prince had the duty to save Aragorn before Mithfindl found him. The Noldo planned to torture Estel, to break the human’s will to live in addition to breaking his body, and Legolas would do whatever it took to keep that from happening.

In a fit of disquiet, Legolas slapped himself to focus his mind, ere he floated to one end of the cesspool to start a methodical search of the rock wall. Even though Estel had been a hallucination, the Prince missed his presence, but promised himself, _Soon, Estel. I will find you before Mithfindl does, I pledge this._ For forever, or so it seemed to the agitated Prince, he felt the rock for an imperfection in its sheer face. He refused to acknowledge the potential folly of his belief that there was hope, since his hope was predicated upon his delirium. To Estel and to himself, he repeated, _I am coming, I promise you. You are mine and I will not let Mithfindl have you._

By the time he reached the other end of the cesspool’s wall, the laegel’s heart was hammering against his ribcage. Had he been able to see anything, he would have noted how his vision was growing darker, but as it was, he could tell no difference. His anxiety was now pure and consuming panic.

“No. I do not accept this,” the Prince roared hoarsely.

In truth, he could probably float and wait and beg for the water to rise quickly such that he could flee before Mithfindl returned or managed to kill Estel, but the laegel was convinced that if he did not escape soon, the Ranger would die. By accident, the Silvan stubbed one of his broken fingers against the wall, wrenching it back into place in the most excruciating way possible. He cried out in agony. Legolas was tired. He was tired of misery. He was tired of being wet, filthy, and worried. He was tired of being in pain. There was only one solution to these ills – getting out of this pit to kill Mithfindl. After that, he didn’t care what happened so long as Estel was safe.

Just when the Prince was convinced that he would find no handhold, he found for what he’d been looking – a small ledge, no wider or longer than half his hand. Immediately, for his panic would not let him delay any further, the laegel used this handhold to try to pull himself up. Since only one hand would fit upon the small protrusion, he placed his palm upon it and hefted himself upwards with all of his weight upon this one hand, while desperately his other arm reached up in search of the precipice. When his arm began to shake with the effort of bearing his weight, when he began to believe that his hallucination had not revealed to him the closeness of the ground overhead but only teased him with the possibility of being free, the wall of the pit became a sharp corner as it converted into the floor of the cave. Feeling the broken bones of his fingers twisting inside his swollen skin and certain that if he did not reach the ground overhead that he would fall back into the cesspool to die from despair, with all his might, the Wood-Elf used his tentative grasp of the minute protrusion to heave himself upwards.

And with that, the laegel had hold of the edge of the cavern floor above the pit. The water from the flooded pond that was rivuleting into the cave made the floor slippery, his fingers were numb from the cuts made to them by the dagger, and the dimness precluded his seeing what he was doing – and yet, he succeeded in holding on long enough to bring his other arm up to grab the precipice with it, as well. Legolas now hung from the edge of the cave’s floor, his feet dangling above the foul water under him. He tried to find the small ledge with one foot to help hoist himself over, but in doing so, his drenched boot slid off the protrusion, making his hands lose their hold upon the slippery rock of the precipice, and the Silvan found himself tumbling backwards into the cesspool. With a loud smack as his bare back hit the water, Legolas sputtered and cursed as he righted himself.

Quickly, the Prince removed his boots, as he knew that without them he could better use the small ledge as a foothold. It took him a few moments to find the protrusion again; during that time, he feared that he would not or that in his earlier efforts he had broken off the crumbly imperfection in the sheer face of the stone wall. Eventually, to his relief, he found it again. His palm again on the tiny ledge, Legolas did as he had before, though this time he found it easier to grab hold of the precipice. When he was once again dangling from the edge, the Elf took more care in locating the protrusion, and with two toes upon it, for the first time in hours, Legolas stood upon solid ground, tiny though that bit of ground was.

“Please,” he pled to anyone with the compassion enough to aid him – Elbereth, Ilúvatar, Manwë – whoever might be listening. The Wood-Elf’s arms were shaking. Injury, hunger, thirst, and pain were working against his innate Elven hardiness and sapping his strength. “Please let me get out of here. I have to find Estel.”

Legolas was a natural climber. From the time that he could walk, the Prince had been climbing trees and walls. As a toddler, he used to climb his father, using the King’s robes to scramble up his Ada’s back until he could sit upon Thranduil’s shoulders. He thought of this now, a faint smile gracing his bruised and dirty face. The thought of his father in the valley, wondering if his son lived or died, the imagining of Elrond weeping over the loss of the laegel, the worried looks upon the twins’ faces as they forever searched for him as they would no doubt do should they not find his body, the chance that Kalin still lived and needed his aid, and the fear that at this very moment Mithfindl could have Estel as his captive gave the failing Wood-Elf the second wind that he badly needed. In tandem, he pulled with his hands and pushed with the toes of the one foot that had any ground on which to stand. When he had risen as far as he could he straightened his arms, lifting himself over them, before letting his upper half collapse forward onto the cave’s floor. His legs still dangled over the precipice but with his torso upon solid ground, the laegel knew that he was safe from falling back into the hole he had thought would be his grave.

He couldn’t help himself. As the water from the overflowing pond streamed around him and the thunder boomed outside the cave’s opening, Legolas wept. He crawled forward with his hands until his legs were upon the ground, as well, tears of relief washing clean trails upon his mucked face.

“Thank you,” he whispered, though to whom he spoke he did not know. “Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated. The Elf lifted his head to look before him and saw a dim light coming from the cave’s entrance. He had no idea how long he had been in the atramentous pit or what time of day it was, but that indistinct illumination was a more welcome sight to him than if he had been given a clear view of every star in the sky.

As soon as his tremulous legs would tolerate his weight, the laegel stood upon his bare feet and trod carefully towards the entrance. He looked about him for his long knife and bow, hoping that Mithfindl had left them, but the Noldo had promised to use them upon Estel and so likely had taken them with him – Legolas found neither. He was weaponless for now, but in defense of Aragorn, he would rip the Noldo’s throat out with his hands if need be. With a smile upon his face and resolution soaring inside him, for he had thought he would never again see another tree, living thing, or even mere light, Legolas stumbled out of the cave and into the open air. By the clouded sky, he could see that it was several hours before dawn, though because of the storms it was darker than it would normally be with Ithil adorning the sky.

 _Now what?_ he asked himself.

He hadn’t truly believed he would ever be free of the pit and so had not planned what to do once he got out of it, but his desiccated throat soon decided for him that his first course of action would be to find some clean water to drink. He’d had nothing to drink other than the poppy tincture and the foul cesspit water he’d unwillingly imbibed. The Elf shambled towards the flooded pond, where he fell to his knees. As he had deciphered, the small pond was indeed overflowing its banks, finding the lowest ground along its shore, and spreading outwards around and into the caves nearby, but other than some leaves and twigs from where it now spread beyond its shore, the water of the pond was wonderfully clear and smelled fresh, especially in comparison to the filthy water in which he’d been mired. Legolas rubbed his hands clean of the mess covering them, then dipped them back in to gather water to drink. He had never tasted anything as delicious as the clean water and drank his fill zealously. He was hungry but his belly could wait. The rest of his body was coated in the stagnant water, mud, and decomposing bits from the cesspool, but he had other matters to which to attend first. A bath was not a priority.

 _I have to find Kalin. I have to make sure he is still alive,_ the Prince decided, though he longed to try to find Estel, instead, since he was in immediate danger, but in the end, he knew that he could not live with himself if he left his sentry alone any longer. He reasoned, _If nothing else, I will have weapons after getting to Kalin, assuming that Kalin did not give up and try to go back to Imladris and assuming that Mithfindl did not find him. If I can run the whole way, around dawn I will be back at the river where I left Kalin._

His course now decided, the laegel snickered lightly in joy. It was not a desperate or mad sounding laugh, nor was his merriment untimely. Yes, he had tried to kill himself with the poppy milk. Yes, he had tried to grieve himself into rending his faer from rhaw. And yes, the laegel had been on the brink of insanity, even hallucinating in his most desperate moment. However, he was alive, out of the pit, and on the hunt again for Mithfindl. For almost two days of being trapped inside the cave’s pit, Legolas had felt no hope, such that the tiniest offering of it now was akin to being given a second chance.

Legolas took only a moment longer to gain his bearings before he began to jog as fast as he could. The rain beat down upon him while the lightning cracked above him, illumining the forest in brief, blue-white flashes, and under his bare feet, the marshy forest floor squelched between his toes. He fiddled with his broken fingers as he ran, managing to straighten them out enough for now until he could splint them. He took a mental stock of his other wounds and found that none of them was currently fatal, although he was nearly as beaten and damaged as when Mithfindl had attacked him in the pleasance. Every step caused him pain, his mind still reeled from the experience he’d undergone, and his weary heart had not yet stopped its fretful drubbing out of worry for Kalin and Estel. But still he ran, telling himself, _At least now I can run. If I die finding Mithfindl, at least I will die in the forest._

For the last several months, since first he was attacked in Lake-town, something inside the Wood-Elf Prince had been broken. That part of him had been broken still when Sven and Cort happened upon the Elf and Ranger in the forest, though after that, Estel and his second family had done wonders to help him ameliorate the damaged part of himself. He had thought himself healing when Kane had abused him in his father’s halls. He had even thought that the shattered pieces of his faer were reforming in the Last Homely House the last two months, under the diligent care of his friends and lover. Mithfindl had shown the laegel how easily he could be broken again.

There was no scar – not physically and not figuratively. He felt no grief from being tortured and raped. He felt no sorrow over that which he’d been unable to control. The Legolas who so often had fled from his father’s wrath, who had bent under Mithfindl’s will, and who had offered his body up for torment to save his friends and father – that Legolas was no more. The malleable Prince was gone. In the indeterminate amount of time he’d spent at the bottom of the cesspool, in the dark, absent of trees, the night sky, comfort, or any trace of hope, and with only his fear and sorrow as company, what was once broken inside Legolas was reforged. Into what the pieces had been remade, he did not yet know.

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 _I am sorry, Greenleaf,_ he thought as he slid down the trunk of the nearest tree so that he could sit for a while. _If I do not rest a moment, I will never make it across the river, much less to the pond._

Feeling nauseated by his fever, Estel pulled the skin of miruvor out of his tunic’s pocket and took a swig. While one could not get sick or intoxicated or otherwise imbibe too much of the rejuvenating cordial, at some point it began to lose its efficacy if used continually. Already he had drunk half the skin and the miruvor was not working as well as it had before.

The Ranger laid his head back upon the tree trunk and waited for the cordial to have some effect. He cursed the thunderheads. It wasn’t the rain that fell from the sky right now that aggravated him, for they had little effect upon the river. No, the rain that fell now had first battered the Misty Mountains, as it normally did during this rainy season, before they had meandered this way. The slow moving storms had assaulted the highlands, swelled the tributaries of the Bruinen, and thus caused the Loudwater to flood. This floodwater took time to travel from the mountains to the lowlands; the rain upon the mountains had not even stopped, so the flooding would only continue as time passed, and the river would only grow wilder and higher. The sun was soon to rise. At this rate – if he managed to survive crossing the river – it would be almost noon before he reached the pond by which Legolas was to have met Mithfindl.

With another fatigued sigh while his aching body and feverish flesh protested, Aragorn rose from the ground. Before him, the Loudwater was truly earning its name this night. He picked up a long, thin branch as he walked towards the shore. Using the branch, the human tried to test the rapidity with which the water flowed – the moment that the branch was in the river, it was yanked from his tight grip. Because he tried to keep hold of it, the unprepared Adan was jerked forward, lost his footing in the marshy shore, and nearly slid on the waterlogged sod and grass of the bank that was now under water. At once, Estel backed away from the river's edge after seeing the violence with which the current was flowing.

The human despaired with a weary groan, _I will drown in the Bruinen. If I do not backtrack to the Ford, then I will surely drown. I cannot hope to cross it._

But he had to traverse the river. Aragorn may not have been an Elf, capable of sensing one's own kind when connected by family or bond, but he could feel Legolas. A sharp foreboding had come to him and it wanted him to cross the river; the Prince was close by on the opposite side, he could feel it. The ever-present fear he felt, growing exponentially with each passing moment since the Elf’s disappearance, let him know that the laegel was nearby.

 _I have already lost almost a whole day taking Kalin to the outpost,_ he rued. He did not regret doing this, but it irked him no less. _I will lose nearly another day backtracking to the Ford, which is likely only slightly less dangerous than crossing here._

The Adan rubbed at his face in absentminded thought as he scanned the banks for a close, safer place to aim for where there were low hanging tree limbs or roots that he might grab onto to pull himself out once at the other shore. He was in roughly the same area that he’d crossed the Bruinen with Kalin about a day ago. In fact, through the rain and now that the sun was rising behind the rainclouds, he could see his bow hanging upon a tree limb on the other bank, just where he’d left it for safekeeping. Farther up the river, though, the Ranger spotted something that made him smile, for he suddenly felt that his luck was going to change for the better. Due to the flooding of the banks, a tree that had grown near the watercourse had become uprooted when the soil in which it had been entrenched was swept away by the rapid waters. He jogged to the downed tree to gauge if it looked safe enough for his purposes. The birch tree laid across the Bruinen such that it nearly reached the other shore, creating a barrier that had already begun to accumulate leaves, small branches, and other debris behind it that the engorged river had picked up along its way here, but it also created a natural bridge of sorts – if one were daring enough to try to walk over it. Although water cascaded over the trunk, there were plenty of limbs and branches onto which he could hold while walking across it.

His optimism improved, Estel moved back from the river and looked to the sky. The sun would soon rise. Until then, he sat in the mud by the tree’s upended roots and pulled out the venison jerky that Camthalion had given him, chewing it leisurely to fill his belly with something other than miruvor.

 _I will wait until the sun rises so that I can better see._ The human grinned at his good fortune. As he’d been promising Legolas for hours now, he promised again, saying to himself, _Soon, Greenleaf. I will be with you soon._

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Normally, it would take a very long time of running for the Wood-Elf to be out of breath. His dash from the pond to here had taken less time than when he’d run to the pond two days ago, for his worry had fueled the latent ember of comburent abhorrence he harbored for Mithfindl, and the imagining of the Noldo finding the injured sentry had set Legolas to sprinting as if his feet were afire. The unforgiving pace he’d set had caused a stitch in the Wood-Elf’s side, which ached already from the bruises there that Mithfindl had given him from his merciless beating.

 _Where could he be?_ the laegel pondered, his breath coming in short rasps and his hand pressed to his ribs.

He knew just where he had left his sentry. This was the tree. That there was blood upon the branches and down the side of the trunk evinced that this had indeed been the place where he had last seen Kalin. Legolas wasn’t entirely sure for how long his sentry had been left alone, since he had no idea how long he’d been in the pit. That Kalin had moved from where his Prince left him was either a good sign – meaning that Kalin had felt well enough to try to travel back to the valley, been found by the patrols that Legolas thought still searched for Mithfindl, or that Estel or one of the twins had found him, since Kalin had intentionally tried to lead them to their path – or it might be a bad sign, meaning that Mithfindl had discovered his sentry, that perhaps Kalin had tried to trail his Prince after all and had run into the Noldo.

He suddenly dreaded that his sentry might have suffered at Mithfindl’s hands in a way similar to how Legolas had suffered the Noldo’s base attentions, which made the Prince’s fiery blood run abruptly cold. Guilty terror began to replace his anger. _I left him here, promising to return to him after killing Mithfindl. Not only have I failed in killing Mithfindl, but also I have returned too late to be of any use to Kalin. I may have only ensured his demise,_ the laegel ranted at himself.

Estel’s bow and quiver – which Kalin had taken from the Ranger’s room and carried with him – were no longer on the branch above where the sentry had been sitting when last Legolas saw him, nor was the water skin or Kalin’s sword lying about anywhere. Thinking that his sentry might have run out of water in the bladder that Legolas had left with him or wandered off to find food, the laegel climbed back down the tree with haste to search the area, which was when he noticed nearly indecipherable prints in the soft mud of the forest floor. A normal Adan, Dwarf, Troll, Orc, or any animal from the forest would have left a distinct footprint. These tracks, though, were like the ones that the Elf had seen many times before – in their campsites, following behind the Ranger in the woods, walking with Aragorn in the valley – he knew these footprints as well as he knew the man who had made them.

 _Estel. These are Estel’s,_ the laegel told himself, his breath coming easier to him. _If Estel followed us, as I am certain he did, has he found the trail Kalin left and now found Kalin? He could even be nearby. These footprints cannot be more than a day old._

Anor was fully rising above the Misty Mountains in the distance. Despite that the sun was concealed by rainclouds, the Elf could feel the heat and constancy of Anor as it began afresh a new day. Moving slowly as fatigue began to settle into his muscles, Legolas followed the footprints, which led just where he had intended to search first for Kalin – the river. The first thing that he noticed was the bow that hung from a branch, under which were scattered more of Estel’s footprints. _Kalin had this bow; either Estel found it here or found Kalin and they both came here._ Unfortunately, though the sentry had left a trail for the twins and Ranger to follow to find him and the Prince, the sentry had left no such trail for his Prince, and so he could not tell whether his sentry had come to the river with Estel or not. The Ranger’s footprints ended upon the bank of the Loudwater, causing Legolas to think, _Ai Ilúvatar… he did not try to cross the Bruinen, did he?_

As he scanned the banks of the inflated, angry waterway, the Elf saw a familiar figure upon the far side, farther up the river. Aragorn was on the shore, clambering over the upended roots of a huge birch tree that had fallen across the Bruinen. In shock, for he had not actually thought to find the Ranger, the Elf asked himself, _Is that truly Estel or am I hallucinating again?_

He thought to call out to Aragorn but knew that over the thunder and rainfall the human would not hear him. At once, Legolas’ exhaustion was forgotten and he sprinted along the bank to reach the side opposite of the Ranger, to stop him from crossing if he could.

“Estel!” he shouted.

But by the time he got to the tree, the human was in the middle of traversing the huge, felled trunk and thus in the thick of the spray caused by the tree’s blockage of the Bruinen; Estel could not hear the Prince over all this noise. The birch tree’s topmost branches, which were thin and already broken by the rapids and the deluge of debris that was being carried down the watercourse, fell short of reaching the shore upon which Legolas stood. He watched in trepidation as the Adan shuffled his way closer to him. He thought to call out again but did not want to distract Aragorn from his task lest this cause the man to fall.

He yearned for this Estel to be real and not another figment of his imagination. His happiness to see that his lover was alive and ostensibly well was overshadowed only by the man’s current actions, which alarmed Legolas to no end. He wished that the human would look up, for then he might see the Prince for the laegel to get his attention, to tell him to turn back, but the Adan paid no mind to anything but the tree trunk under him.

Estel almost made it. Perhaps the Ranger had not accounted for the lack of robust limbs at the top of the tree, or perhaps the one he tried to step on gave way under him, but one moment, the human was visible, his hair flapping in the strong winds of the storm, his gait steady as he chose his way over the downed tree, but the next moment, Legolas could only watch as his fears were realized and the man dropped beneath the surface of the Bruinen as if he’d never been there at all.


	10. Chapter 10

As careful as he’d tried to be, as particular as he’d been in choosing where to place his feet, the exhausted, feverish, and sick Estel felt the branch under his foot break free. He had no time to react. The swell swept the Ranger’s other foot off the sturdier limb it had been upon, the pull of the water ripped his lower body down, and before he was aware of what transpired, Estel was underwater.

In foresight of this kind of misfortune happening, the human had tried to stay on the upriver side of the tree, which meant that despite that he was now under the surface of the river, he was caught by the tree itself such that he was not immediately pulled downstream. Aragorn fumbled for a grip upon the limbs around him. Most of the tree’s smaller limbs were already gone, having broken free by the current, so there were only the larger branches onto which to grasp. Too far under the surface, he finally grabbed hold of a limb; he tried to climb up it out of the water but the pack upon his back became caught on a different limb. If he let go of the limb onto which he held to shrug free of the pack, he might not be able to grab hold again before he was pulled deeper, but if he did not, he would surely die.

The last and only other time that the Ranger had been near to drowning was when he was ten years old. A prank pulled by his twin foster brothers had caught him off guard; in panic, he’d forgotten how to swim the rapids. That time, those many years ago, Estel was pulled free from the Bruinen by Legolas, whom he’d just met that morning.

The Ranger had heard people say that upon nearing one’s death, images of one’s past flashed before one’s eyes. Estel thought of only that one memory – of Legolas swimming out to save him. Though he’d been too young even to think of love or lust, he realized now, with his vision darkening from lack of air and his hand involuntarily loosening its grip upon the tree’s branch, that it had been that moment in which he’d become utterly infatuated with the Wood-Elf. The Prince had not hesitated once seeing the Adan wasn’t swimming but drowning. He had jumped into the Bruinen, grabbed hold of the human child – who had been struggling and even hit the Wood-Elf in his efforts – and saved Estel’s life with no thought to his own safety. Always the Prince had treated the human’s life as if it were just as worthy as any Elf’s life, despite that the Adan always considered himself less important – especially when younger. It was one of the many reasons that he had fallen in love with the Prince during the Adan’s youth, when he’d begun to mature and started to see the laegel differently than as just a friend.

So it was with this memory in his mind that he currently suffocated in the Bruinen. Struggle though he did to free the pack from his back, in a final, futile effort, he released his hold of the limb to try to pull his arms out of the sack. As he feared, the Adan was immediately pulled deeper before he could get the pack loose. He could not find the same limb or another one onto which to grab to save himself, nor could he shrug free of the rucksack. As his starving lungs gave in to the need to breathe and he unwillingly inhaled the river water, his body no longer responded to make any further attempts to seize a handhold. He felt it only fitting that his last thoughts were of Legolas; worried more that he would not be alive to help the Elf than he was worried over his own death, the Ranger prayed, _If he lives, please let the twins find him, then, or Ada or Glorfindel. Do not let him suffer._ The human’s body relaxed completely and he suddenly knew that his death was truly upon him.

But just as suddenly, he felt a hand at his waist. His dagger was removed from its sheath, the pack’s straps were cut, and the same hand fisted into his collar. He could feel fingers pressing into the back of his neck, felt the slithering body of someone behind him, and then, the human’s head was above the surface. He coughed and hacked until his lungs were clear enough to draw in air. Someone or something was saving him – the Ranger let himself go limp so as not to fight his rescuer. He didn't care if it was a Troll snatching him from a certain wet and gloomy death, so long as he had a chance to breathe before pulling his sword. As soon as he felt rough bark against his cheek, the human forced his fatigued body into action and wrapped his arms around the tree’s trunk. Whoever had saved him was pressed behind him, his chest to the Ranger’s back, and his hands on the trunk on either side of where the man’s arms were wrapped around it. He could see only long blond hair as it floated in the water beside him and could hear only the coughs of the being trying to clear his own chest of the Bruinen.

 _Glorfindel,_ the Ranger surmised based on the blond hair of the being who had helped him, his readiness to fight now readiness to help. _Has he been out here searching against Ada’s orders, as well? Surely, Gwindor did not reach Imladris that quickly and help arrive so soon,_ he speculated.

With his rescuer’s assistance, the Ranger scrambled up the tree’s trunk, wrapped his legs around it to keep from sliding off, and then shifted to help whoever had saved him. He turned just in time to see that the being’s head and body had already been pulled under by the current and the pale hands of his rescuer were losing their hold on the trunk to which they clung. At once, the human reached out to grab one of those hands but the being’s fingers slipped through the Adan’s grip as easily as the water into which they disappeared. He hesitated a moment, considering whether to jump back in to find the being, but the hand suddenly reappeared, where it hit against Aragorn’s leg in its desperation to find purchase. This time, the Ranger was able to seize the pale wrist and yank the being up. It wasn't until his rescuer’s head momentarily broke the surface that he realized who had saved him and who now needed his saving – it was not Glorfindel whose wrist he held, sputtering water as the current's spray hit him in his bruised face.

"Legolas?" the human whispered, his words drowned out by the resounding storm and rushing river.

A limb underwater broke free at that moment, hitting the back of the Prince’s legs and pulling him under the current. The Elf’s wrist was jolted from the human’s hand and the Prince was once more beneath the surface of the Bruinen. Legolas had pulled Estel from the river and he'd just let the Silvan go back under in return.

Although he knew it did no good, the Ranger yelled out as if doing so could bring the Silvan back to him, “Greenleaf!”

Frantically, Aragorn searched the muddied, debris thick water around his legs. There was no sign of the Wood-Elf. It had only been seconds but the human was unwilling to wait to see if the Silvan broke the surface again. Just as he was about to heft himself back into the rapidly moving Bruinen,  the Wood-Elf came up on the other side of the trunk, having been pushed under it by the limb and the force of the current. This time Estel did not hesitate but grabbed the laegel's upper arm to yank with all his might until the Prince could grab hold of the top of the tree. Legolas laid his torso over the trunk, his legs still in the water. By the waist of the laegel’s trousers, the human heaved the Elf the rest of the way out. When Legolas was fully on the trunk, he tried to grab the Wood-Elf by his hips to set him upright, but the Prince was already crawling towards the end of the tree. Like a cat, he leapt agilely upon all fours from the pliable branches at its top to the relative safety of the muddy shore, landing first with his hands, which seized the grasses growing along the bank, and then used his hold in that split second to pull his lower body forward and thus landed in a crouch completely out of the water.

The Elf stood and gingerly moved into the swell of the river near the shore, planted his feet firmly, and stood with his arms out; the laegel shouted to the human, “Jump, Estel!”

The Ranger walked as far as he dared upon the trunk, looked to where the Elf stood, and then did as Legolas had bid him. He did not fear missing the shore, for his Greenleaf was there to save him. Unable to jump as far as had the Silvan, the human landed well short of the bank, but as he knew would happen, Legolas was there to catch him. The laegel’s painful grasp upon his forearms did not falter – though he was unable to put his legs under him, the Wood-Elf pulled the human closer to the shore, where the water moved more slowly. At last, the Ranger was able to draw his legs under him, shove his boots into the mud underfoot, and then with Legolas’ aid, wade his way to the bank.

Once the human was safe, the Wood-Elf began coughing until he flopped lifelessly onto his belly on the shoreline; the Silvan laid with his arms spread out, his face down against the scant grass keeping his nose out of the rocky shore below, and making no sound except the occasional sputtering cough. Estel was up and moving towards the Elf the moment that he had caught his breath. He wasn't altogether sure that Legolas had caught his own breath, however, for the Prince had not budged since heaving himself onto land. Kneeling before the pallid and unmoving Wood-Elf, the Ranger put a hand on the laegel's shoulder, intending to turn the Prince over to see whether the bottomless, mirthful blue eyes that had only in recent months looked upon him with love were once again unresponsive and dull with grief or grave injury. He paused at the sight of the Elf's back.

“Greenleaf?” he asked as he lightly ran his fingertips over the Prince’s flesh, where there were again dark marks upon the pale skin.

When Mithfindl had beaten the Prince with a brick in Elrond’s pleasance, the Ranger had thought that he had never seen a more bruised and yet still breathing being. Now, with Legolas’ lower back entirely empurpled and blackened by contusions, it looked as if he’d been beaten with a brick again, so deep and angry did the bruises look. Although the contusions were not as numerous or as bad as the ones from the brick, they still appeared very painful.

 _How much can he possibly be made to suffer?_ the Ranger mourned, finally flipping over the inanimate Wood-Elf. The Elf's front fared no better than his back, and seeing it, the Ranger was certain without doubt that Mithfindl had been the one to create these wounds. No matter what any of them might tell him, Aragorn knew he was the cause of this. If it had not been for him professing his love for the Elf, then none of this would have ever happened. Yes, the Prince would still have been assaulted in Lake-town and then in the woods, but if Estel had never declared his love that night by the stream, then Legolas would have been given the chance to heal or perish, as should have been the outcome, the Ranger saw now. But nothing afterwards – Thranduil’s hate and beatings, Mithfindl’s attack, the King’s poisoning or the laegel’s enthrallment – none of it would have happened.

Legolas’ shirt had been used for bandaging for Kalin’s wounds and his tunic was missing, so he was naked from the waist up. The Prince was barefoot and his feet were caked in mud. In fact, despite the dousing that the Prince had endured while saving Estel, dirt and a strange white grit coated the Silvan everywhere – most especially his hair. The Elf’s trousers hung low on his hips, exposing the lower part of the Silvan’s navel where the dark blond hair around his shaft began, which is why the Ranger noted that the leather string that laced the Elf’s trousers was missing. Upon the Prince’s lower belly, even more marks were splattered across Legolas' pale flesh. None of these contusions was life threatening but evinced that when freshly made, the marks of now had then been made with vicious intent and caused the laegel great agony.

_Has he not eaten since the day he disappeared?_

Since when the Ranger, sentry, and Prince had shared a meal together, the Wood-Elf had eaten only a few berries and a rabbit that he and Kalin had split between them; so in fact, Legolas had eaten barely anything in the last five days. Aragorn had seen the Prince thin before, as during the worst of his grief these past months, although the Prince had never starved himself but had only eaten peckishly, like a bird. He had never seen the laegel this way. His back slightly arched over the tuft of grass under him, the Elf's stomach caved in such that the rain still battering down upon the two lovers was pooling where the well-honed muscle on the Elf's belly lay deteriorating. It was not only hunger that caused this decline; sorrow was wasting the laegel’s rhaw.

Behind closed lids, the Prince's eyes fluttered a time or two before they tried to open. Immediately, the Ranger placed his hands upon the immortal's upper arms, where there were few bruises to pain him. He wanted to keep the Elf from trying to flee. He was not chasing the Prince across the forest again, even if it meant frightening the Silvan. Because the Prince had saved the Ranger from drowning, Estel held hope that the Wood-Elf was himself. He did not know what had happened to Legolas – if he’d found Mithfindl, if Mithfindl had defiled the laegel again, or if the Prince had managed to slaughter the Noldo as Mithfindl rightfully deserved – but if his lover reacted poorly to his presence, he would tie the Elf up and haul him on his shoulder back to the Last Homely House, Legolas’ wishes be damned. He was not losing the laegel again.

"I think," the Prince whispered so softly that Estel put his ear nearly to the Elf's mouth to hear it, while a faint smile played across Legolas’ battered face, "that I am finally tired of the water."

As cross as he was at the laegel, the Ranger could not help but to grin back at him to say, “I never thought to hear you say you are tired of swimming.”

Aragorn pulled the Elf into sitting. With the rain falling hard around them, the thunder rolling overhead, and the river rushing by, they sat in the mud on the bank in silence for a moment. The Ranger wanted nothing more than to grab hold of the Wood-Elf, to embrace him and not let go. Something lay between them, however. Some divide separated the two lovers. The Ranger was incensed at his Greenleaf, yes, but he loved him still, of course, just as he always would. He did not know if the Wood-Elf was angered with him, but he would not be surprised if he were, given that the human had allowed Thranduil’s periapt to remain upon him.

“You found Kalin?” the Prince asked finally, struggling to speak as he began to cough. “Please tell me that you found him.”

“I did. I took him to the patrol outpost half a day’s walk from here. They were taking him by horse to the valley.” Estel did not like the guilty look upon the Elf’s face, though Aragorn did not think kindly of Legolas for leaving Kalin alone in the forest, either. With a sigh, he said, “He was unconscious by the time we arrived at the outpost. And he lost a great deal of blood.”

Legolas turned his face down to his lap, where began to pick at the skin of his knees through the torn open cloth of his filth-encrusted trousers. Aragorn could just glimpse inside those tears in the cloth; strange, small white slivers were embedded in the Elf’s knees, where the flesh was raw and seeped blood. Aragorn longed to reach out to treat the Wood-Elf, but something disturbing lay under the Prince’s calm demeanor, something that promised bloodshed, and he did not want to incite the laegel into violence. He had seen Legolas look this way before – when the Elf had driven his dagger into the man’s belly. Had the periapts not all been accounted for, the Ranger might have feared for his life just then, but it was hard to be afraid of the laegel. He had known the Wood-Elf almost his entire life and trusted Legolas completely, whether Legolas was angered with him or not. Still, as much as he wanted to treat the Elf’s wounds, he wanted to be sure that the Silvan was well enough to allow it. He did not want to be hurt by the Prince nor hurt the Prince in return.

“What of Mithfindl?” the Ranger asked, chancing that he would upset the laegel by the mere mention of the Noldo’s name. Since Legolas was alive, the human hoped that the Noldo was dead.

Legolas tugged at two of his fingers, which were swollen and bruised, as he told the Ranger, “I found Mithfindl. I found him just where he said he would wait for me.”

Estel could take it no longer. He grasped the Elf’s hands in his own to stop him from continuing, for he could see the agony upon Legolas’ face – pain that the Silvan was causing himself with his actions. But he let go quickly when the Prince gasped in discomfort and pulled his limb back to cradle to his chest.

“They are broken,” Legolas explained with a grimace.

With more care now that he understood that the Prince’s fingers were not merely bruised but fractured, Aragorn gently took hold of the laegel’s hand. The Elf was ambidextrous in most activities, but for archery, the Wood-Elf depended upon his right hand the most – it was the two smallest fingers upon this hand that were broken, the Ranger could see, meaning that if they did not heal properly, the Elf’s ability to draw his bow would be hampered but not become impossible.

“They should have been set immediately. Now the flesh is too swollen to tell if I set them properly,” he thought aloud, unthinking of how his words sounded as blame.

“I couldn’t see to set them, although to be honest, I never thought I would live long enough for it to matter,” the Prince replied.

Aragorn did not like this indifferent statement at all. He palpated the laegel’s digits to feel where the bones were damaged. As smoothly as possible, the human set the Elf’s fingers back into place the best that he could while he kept watch over the laegel’s face to determine how badly he was hurting his lover. Legolas did not make a single sound during this, though he winced often. Aragorn searched the ground around him while Legolas once more cradled his injured hand against his chest. Finding a stick that would suit his purpose, the Ranger broke it to a suitable length, ripped a strip from his shirt, and with the stick as a splint, wrapped the Wood-Elf’s digits with the strip to keep them straight.

“What of Mithfindl?” he asked once this was done, since he had yet to hear of whether the Noldo lived.

“I had my chance. I tried to kill him but could not.” The Elf rubbed at his forearms and began plucking free several threads of rope that were enmeshed in the skin. 

“You are the better Elf for not having done it, perhaps, though Mithfindl deserves to die. You showed mercy when he showed you none. I could not have done the same. That is not weakness; it is a strength that I did not possess when Cort begged for mercy, when Kane begged for mercy,” he told the Elf, meaning every word he said. Aragorn did not regret his having killed the merchants but it was never easy to take the life of another.

He had misunderstood the Elf, it seemed, for Legolas contended, “No. He deserves no mercy, Estel. He poisoned my father. He tried to make me kill you. Mithfindl must die.” Absently, the Elf wiped his now bleeding forearm against the befouled cloth of his trousers. “He overpowered me. I managed to stab him in the shoulder, but I do not think I wounded him fatally.”

“Then where have you been, Greenleaf? It has been over two days since you left Kalin. If you found him just where you said he would be, why did you not return to Kalin? How did you escape? And where is Mithfindl now?” Watching the laegel scrape at the dirt that coated his abraded forearms, the Ranger longed even more to treat the wounds upon his lover. The Elf had obviously been tied, he had been missing, and the human feared that the worst had happened to Legolas again. Before the laegel had the chance to answer, Aragorn dismissed his own questions out of fear of the answers, instead saying, “With Kalin, I sent word for Glorfindel and my father. I told them where you were to meet Mithfindl and instructed them to take the route along the river in case I found you first, so that we could return that way – they will find us. Let me treat your wounds and then we will start back to the valley. We will encounter them along our way.”

Before Estel had even finished speaking, Legolas was shaking his head in disagreement. “No, I am not going back. Not until I find Mithfindl. Not until I know that he is dead.”

“As you are, Greenleaf? You have no boots, you have no weapons. You cannot hunt Mithfindl in the forest like this. You are injured. Let us go back to the valley for supplies, then, if not to stay.” The Ranger could not believe the Silvan’s stubbornness, though in truth, he should not have been surprised at all.

“I am not going back. He thinks either that I am trapped or that I am dead. But he still desires vengeance against you, Estel. He knew that you would try to find me. Even now, you could be in danger. He could be on your trail as we speak, for it is his intent to kill you to finish his revenge.” Nearly naked, bruised, bleeding, weaponless, famished, and disheveled, the laegel never looked as princely as he did at that moment. “I left the valley to find him to keep you safe. I left Kalin alone in the forest, injured, to keep you safe. I will not return until that aim is accomplished or all of it is for naught.”

The human’s heart fell. When Thranduil had told him that the Prince sought out Mithfindl to ensure Estel’s safety, the Ranger had hoped that it was not true. And yet, Legolas told him now that he cared more to keep Estel well than to find revenge for the wrongs done to him.

For a few minutes more, the two sat in uncomfortable silence. Legolas was now rubbing at the bruises upon his throat. Soon, the Ranger would lose his patience and force his care upon the Prince, for he could see that the Wood-Elf suffered and had yet to be able to do much for him other than set his broken fingers. _I must get him to Rivendell._ He had questions for the Elf. He wanted to hear everything that had happened. He wanted to tell Legolas the story behind Thranduil placing the periapt upon him and why the human had allowed it to remain. He needed to know if Mithfindl had ravaged the Elf again but could not bring himself to ask. He told himself once more, _I must get him to Rivendell._ The Ranger reached for his pack, only to remember that Legolas had cut it loose in order to get Estel free from the limb that had kept him under the surface of the river. _Great,_ he rued. _Greenleaf is withering away and now we’ve no food. I have lost all the herbs I carried, all the linen. If I don’t find a way to get him back to the valley, all his injuries will go untreated and Greenleaf will starve._

The sun had now fully risen, though it still hid behind the clouds. A temporary lull in the storm was slowing the rain to a soft patter and the thunder was finally moving off into the distance. Aragorn pushed his hair from his face. He was soaked to the bone. He was hungry and tired. He was sick. He wanted nothing more than to climb into clean, dry clothes, eat a proper meal, and sleep for a few days – but he would do none of this without Legolas also being cared for, his wounds being tended, his body getting the nourishment that he needed, and sleeping curled up right beside the Ranger.

Trying a different tack, the human used the Elf’s worry for him to his advantage, saying, “And what of me, Greenleaf? If Mithfindl hunts me, as you say, then I am in danger just sitting here. I am not leaving you. Where you go, I will go,” he obstinately told the laegel, his anger making him tirade, “If you stay in the woods to hunt Mithfindl, then I will be beside you, as I should have been from the start. I will just be the bait for your hunt, then.”

Grudgingly, the Prince told the Ranger as he looked away, not liking that his lover’s logic was sound and hurt by the human’s exasperated words, “Fine. I will follow you to the valley, then, but only until I am certain you are safe. Once we are close enough that Mithfindl would not dare to show his face, I am turning back,” he swore.

This was enough of a promise for the Ranger for now. The closer to the valley that he could get the laegel, the more likely he would be able to convince Legolas to return to his Minyatar’s house, if only for a short while. His anger deflating now that he had accomplished this much, Estel told the Prince, “Let us at least get out of the open for now.”


	11. Chapter 11

In silence, Legolas stood with some difficulty and then held his uninjured hand out to the Ranger, who took it gladly for aid in standing. The Prince walked a few paces before the human, first backtracking to where the day before Estel had left his bow and quiver hanging from a tree limb. Wordlessly, the cagey and riled Elf strapped the quiver upon his bare back and looped the bow over his shoulder. Seeing this, Estel checked his weapon to be sure that he was ready, should Mithfindl appear. From where Legolas had used it to cut free the pack that had held the Adan underwater, the Ranger’s dagger was now lost in the river but his broadsword was sharp and as ravening for the Noldo’s blood as Legolas was for it. Aragorn had not felt to be in danger from Mithfindl the last few days of searching for Legolas because he had been certain that the Noldo would be waiting for the Prince to come to him for torment. He had yet to hear how Legolas had gotten free of the Noldo, but since he had, Mithfindl was occupied no longer – he roamed the forest, as did they, to play a very deadly game of hide and seek.

“Let us find someplace to rest for a moment,” he suggested to the Prince, trying to demand of him, “I would at least like to ascertain that your ribs aren’t broken, Greenleaf.”

He could see by the Elf’s cocked head that Legolas heard him but he did not answer. Instead, Legolas led them onwards in his shoeless feet with his gait unsteady but resolute. He kept their direction headed towards Imladris while staying just inside the wooded area along the Bruinen. As they walked, the human took stock of his lover’s injuries. The worst of the laegel’s prior wounds had been healed completely by vilya but the lesser bruises had been left mostly untouched. Those bruises were still upon the Elf’s pale hide, having had no chance to heal entirely, it seemed, what with the Wood-Elf having been allowed no chance to rest, as he should have done. Scattered amidst those faint marks, though, new contusions now laid. Upon the Prince’s head and eluding to a possibly severe injury that the Ranger yearned to know the extent of, Estel saw that the hair at the crown of the laegel’s head was matted with bloodied mud and more of the peculiar white grit that peppered the rest of his body and trousers. Upon the laegel’s forehead, an abraded cut decorated his unlined brow, while upon his face were several swollen, contused marks. Across the Elf’s throat laid the telltale signs of the Prince having been strangled again, for he wore these bruises like a collar. Also upon his neck was a cut that ran long but luckily not deep – or at least, not enough to have slit the laegel’s throat open. This cut was gruesome but closed such that it did not bleed.

The Wood-Elf’s torso was stippled with contusions. Some of the bruises even had a similar appearance to the ones Mithfindl had made with the brick, although from their circular shape, the Ranger thought they might have been made with the Noldo’s elbow. These marks were especially dark across the Elf’s belly and lower back. Rope burns adorned the Prince’s forearms and the skin there was scuffed, though these were not as bad as the ones the Elf had worn days ago, when Legolas had fought against the rope that had bound him while Mithfindl despoilt the Elf under the guise of Estel. To the Ranger, the most disturbing of all these injuries were several minor ones – across Legolas’ upper torso, upon the roseate flesh surrounding the peaks of his chest, were bite marks that clearly came from a sentient being’s mouth, and thus not made by an animal. In conjunction with the cut remnants of the ties to the Wood-Elf’s trousers, the fact that the Silvan’s tunic was missing, and Legolas’ off kilter tread, the Ranger could only conclude that his lover had been sadistically molested by Mithfindl again.

 _He has been violated another time,_ the human predicted with a pained and heavy heart, though he guessed wrongly on this matter. _I need to find out. I need to see to his injuries. We cannot walk back to Imladris without my having seen to him._ Estel pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyelids shut to disperse the tears that were gathered there. _If Mithfindl has raped him again, will he even let me see to those injuries to make sure that he heals properly?_

Just in the last week, twice the Elf had been raped by Mithfindl; those injuries were surely healed now by time and by Elrond having used vilya. The thought of Legolas suffering any pain caused the human grief, but Aragorn was well acquainted with the innermost, clandestine flesh of the Prince’s body. He had willingly stroked, lovingly teased, and hungrily licked every inch of the Wood-Elf’s sensitive nether regions. He knew that Legolas would be too proud to ask for help with these damages; furthermore, the Ranger was unsure if he could handle tending to these wounds without breaking down into tears, since the mere thought was enough to make him want to weep. He could not muster the courage to ask the Elf about it, nor could he tell from the Prince’s manner if his suppositions were true.

The Ranger sidled up next to Legolas to inspect more closely the many contusions to his body, to try to determine that none was life threatening in their viciousness. With a start, the human realized something odd – the wounds that the Prince now bore mirrored those that he had worn before Elrond healed him. Their placement was not exactly the same, no, but everywhere that the laegel had been injured prior to Elrond using vilya, he was injured again with only slightly less brutality.

 _Except his leg. There is no wound where the scar laid, or none that I can see, since he walks better than when he felt the scar’s sway and its agonizing presence in his muscles,_ he thought to himself. Though now without the mar, the Ranger had to wonder of the laegel, _But it is likely that he still hears the voices from it, even though it is gone. That may never end,_ he regretfully deliberated, though he was wrong in that assumption, as well. 

When Legolas glowered at him in suspicious awareness of how the Ranger scrutinized him, the human slowed his pace to walk behind the laegel once more. For several days now, the Adan had been irate with the Elf. Even now, his anger was lessened only by his relief that the Prince was alive. Never before had he felt this way towards Legolas. Never before had there been such tension between them, for it seemed that the laegel was vexed, as well. He had to clear the air. He had to know what had happened between Legolas and Mithfindl and if injury lay beneath the Elf’s trousers that he could not currently see. For days now, he had festered in worry; he didn’t think he could endure it any longer. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you this filthy, although I think most of you is bruise,” he told the Elf congenially. He was determined to have his answers, yes, but he wanted to soothe Legolas beforehand. The last thing he needed was for the laegel to become upset or irate and try to leave him. In fact, the fear that the Prince would take off through the woods – whether to find Mithfindl or out of some lingering fear of Estel – caused the human to walk closer to Legolas. “But since you are alive, when I feared you dead, I guess a few bruises and dirt are forgivable,” he quipped wryly. “Although, Ada will be upset to see that you have ruined the fine work he did with vilya. You might have to tolerate these wounds until they heal. Your Minyatar will not want to use vilya again on your bruises if you only insist on making more to replace them.”

Legolas did not reply.

 _Please, Greenleaf,_ he lamented to himself, though of what he wanted the Elf to say or do, Estel was not sure. If only the Woodland Prince would speak to him, the suppuration could be voided, the Ranger was certain, and then he could convince the laegel to return to the valley with him.

For a while longer, he followed behind the Elf, his irritation growing in tandem with his exasperation. When the silence grew long, the rain began to quicken, and the laegel’s gait became ever more rickety, the Ranger tried again, saying in hopes that bringing up this shared memory might sweeten the Elf’s sour mood, “Thank you, Greenleaf. This is twice now that you have pulled me from drowning in the Bruinen. At least this time I did not black your eye trying to escape you. But then, I am no longer a young Adan child from whom you can harvest bits and pieces for your magic,” he teased lightly in fond remembrance of those many years ago.

And still, Legolas did not respond. They could not walk all the way to the Last Homely House without Aragorn establishing Legolas’ well-being or hearing what had happened. The human would go mad with anxiety. Feeling that they were far enough into the forest to be safe for a few moments, Estel decided that he’d had enough of the laegel’s silent antipathy – he grabbed Legolas’ arm to stop the Elf, his mouth opening to begin the argument that he knew must take place before either of them could forgive the other of their perceived trespasses.

The momentum of this abrupt halt caused the Silvan to spin around to face the human, which caused the Adan’s angry words to falter, for it was then that the Ranger saw the tears that trailed down the Elf’s face. Without hesitation or thought to whether his affection and comfort was desired or not, Aragorn immediately pulled Legolas into his arms. After a moment of remaining stiff in the man’s embrace, the Wood-Elf’s body softened against Estel, he slid his own arms around the human, and then burrowed his face into the Ranger’s neck, the bridge of his nose nestled under the Ranger’s ear. He could feel Legolas’ tears against the skin of his throat. He was not sure what he had said to cause the Prince to weep, but whatever the reason, for the moment, seeing Legolas’ sorrow delayed the indignant invectives upon Aragorn’s tongue.

 _Idiot,_ he called himself. _I have been nothing but unsympathetic to him since he pulled me out of the river. He came out here to keep me safe, has suffered who knows what in the endeavor, and I repay his loyalty and love by being irascible._

Aragorn ran his fingers through the Wood-Elf’s hair, which was dull with grit and tangled with leaves and twigs, saying to Legolas in the effort to gain his compliance in returning to Imladris, “Please, Greenleaf. Let us go to the valley. You have nothing to prove to anyone. Let others find Mithfindl. You should be in the House where you will be safe.”

After mere moments of having the Prince in his arms as he desired so greatly, Estel felt the Elf’s body stiffen before Legolas was pushing himself back and away from the Ranger, his face once more set into uncharacteristic irritation. The Wood-Elf stumbled in his haste to remove himself from the human, stuck his uninjured hand out as though to ward off Aragorn, while with his injured hand he wiped at the tears upon his bruise-mottled visage. Taken by surprise at the Wood-Elf’s rejection, the Adan only stood there indecisively.

“No,” the Prince told the man, deriding hoarsely, “Do not speak to me as if I were a child or a fool, Estel. I will not have it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked perplexedly while taking a small step forward to hold his lover again.

It was difficult for Aragorn to view the laegel’s tears but be unwelcome to comfort the Elf. The perfervid aggravation and disdain that the laegel displayed ought to have warned him that he was unwanted. And yet, the Ranger was disappointed and a bit shocked when Legolas took a step back at the human’s advance. His first thought was that the Elf was somehow still confused about who was responsible for what had been done to him in the valley, that he blamed Estel as he had before, or that Mithfindl had again turned the Prince against the Ranger as he had days previous. However, his next thought provided exactly why Legolas was irate – the Prince thought of how Thranduil had placed the periapt upon him and of how the Ranger had been complicit to all of it.

He knew that this was the case when the Prince railed at him, “You want me back in the valley to keep me safe, as if I am an Elfling that needs caretaking. In case you have forgotten, I am years beyond childhood and capable of seeing to myself. It is too bad that I do not wear one of the stones, else you could order me about as Mithfindl did.” The Silvan took a deep breath. “I understand why my father would believe he had the right to do such a thing – I am his subject as well as his son, and bound to his orders whether I wish to follow them or not, just as the stone had me do. But I do not understand why you would allow it, Estel. I do not understand – after knowing how Mithfindl used a periapt to control me, to take over my mind and will, to force himself upon me and force me into thinking it was you to do it, to make me to try to kill you – why would you sit idly by while I was enthralled again?” the laegel asked of the Ranger, his voice rising as his umbrage was nurtured by his own reminder of the wrongs done to him.

This was no easy question to answer. Worriedly, for the Elf’s voice might carry through the forest even above the howl of the wind and the sound of the rain, the human scanned the relative quiet of the woods around them. It would be most unfortunate for Mithfindl to find them because they argued too loudly. The human’s eyes could see little in the murk of the woods, for though the sun had risen there was little light from Anor, who hid behind the rainclouds.

Legolas gave the Ranger no time to respond. The Elf’s hands fell to his sides, where they clutched his sagging trousers to haul them up to his hips again, though the loose waist began to droop the moment the Prince let go. Now that the laegel had begun his tirade, he could not hold his tongue and ranted, “Why is it that Kalin was the only one who spoke out against the periapt? Kalin would never have disobeyed or questioned my father but he saw the periapt as just cause to do so for the first time ever. And so seeing what my father had done, Kalin stood up to _his King,_ freely abandoning his high station in the guards as well as placing his liberty in danger in risking treason on my behalf, caring for me when I had not the wits to know I had been maltreated. No one else, none who claims to be my family and friends, or you – who have stood up to my father before – had any thought to save me from being enslaved again? Had Kalin not questioned his King’s actions, would the stone ever have been removed? Or would I be in the valley still, acting against my will? Would you have preferred me to remain a slave, since it suits your own purposes? Would I have been your thrall as I was Mithfindl’s?” the laegel asked, his resentment causing him to make wild accusations the Ranger hoped that the Elf did not truly believe.

Aragorn was at his wit’s end. He had lost all patience. Bitterly, for his guilt did not sit well with him on this matter and he childishly wished to wound the Prince as the Prince was wounding him, Estel replied acerbically, “And look what Kalin’s loyalty earned him – left in the trees, bleeding to death, while you went about your foolhardy mission to kill Mithfindl. If you wore the stone still, then at least Kalin would be unhurt, as would you, while Mithfindl could have been taken into captivity by Glorfindel and his warriors.”

At once, the Elf became utterly motionless – the Prince’s chest did not even move, as if he held his breath in enraged disbelief. _Quiet, you fool,_ he told himself, fearful that now he had begun letting free the castigation he had been trying to hold in check, he would lose his temper and drive the Elf away. _You will send him running to find Mithfindl on his own if you do not shut your mouth._

He could not let that happen. He could not lose the Wood-Elf again. “Greenleaf,” he began in conciliation and in defense of his family, “Elladan and Elrohir did not even know about the stone until after you were long asleep. Glorfindel, Erestor, nor anyone else knew anything of it at the time. My father wanted it removed at once, as would the twins have wanted had they known, but Ada respected Thranduil’s wishes, since he is your father and King, though he told your father as Kalin did that he would allow it to remain no longer than a day. Greenleaf, no one betrayed you except your father, and I agreed with him only because –” he tried to explain before the laegel cut him off.

“I do not care. You betrayed me. All of you did. Even Kalin betrayed me, eventually, just like the rest of you. I have sometimes doubted Kalin’s faith in me, but I have never doubted his loyalty – at least, not until he told me that he left a path for those who would search for us. After learning of the periapt, he became the only one I could trust and now that he has shown his loyalty no longer lies with me, I know I can trust no one. Since this is so, I will see Mithfindl dead myself, without anyone else’s aid, and then go my own way after that… if I live afterwards,” the Silvan murmured mordantly, his voice so soft that the Ranger took a step closer just to hear him above the sound of the rain but also to be close enough to grab the Prince should he suddenly make good on his oath to finish his task alone. The laegel was promising to kill Mithfindl and then leave his family and friends behind, which the Ranger could not abide. He would end up spending the rest of his life searching for the Elf should that happen.

At the man’s step forward, the Silvan maddeningly took another step back. All emotion was still absent from Legolas’ face, which immediately told Estel that he had upset the Prince direly. The human’s chest tightened to think of it. He had never before hurt Legolas intentionally – not physically and not with his words – but now he was arguing with his lover and inveighing his choices as if he had a right to judge the Elf. And yet, still Estel could not stop himself. Born from his unending forbearance with the Silvan over the last several months, of dealing with the Prince’s grief, of combatting the vociferations of the mar, his anger and frustration were overflowing the banks of his self-control until they flooded his being and needed outlet lest he drown in them.

Knowing that he should shut his mouth, still the Ranger argued, “Kalin left a trail so that we would be able to find you both, should the worst come to pass – as it has, in case you have not noticed. His love for his Prince made him disobey you, just as it made him disobey his King. Was that good cause to leave him to die in the forest?”

“I intended to return to him. You do not understand, Estel. You killed Sven, Cort, and Kane on my behalf, to right the wrongs that they committed against me, to protect me, but now question why I would want to kill Mithfindl to avenge my father and you and to keep you safe.” Legolas dropped his gaze and turned away from the human, only to turn back to him with a dour grimace. The Wood-Elf absently adjusted his borrowed quiver upon his back, twisting the container so that its straps would not hit the bruises upon his person. He reiterated, “I promised Kalin I would return to him to take him home. And I tried. It may have taken longer than I promised, but I could not help that, Estel, believe me. But do not tell me that Kalin reviled me for leaving him in that tree. When he was injured, I told him that we would return to the valley, but he bid me to go. He told me of his betrayal and so said he would be found when our trail was discovered. He wanted me to continue as I did. Do not accuse me of mistreating Kalin.”

The Ranger felt ridiculous doing this – standing in the rainy forest arguing – while Mithfindl hunted them. Aragorn crossed his arms over his chest. He understood the laegel’s meaning but he could not agree. “That is because he is your sentry and he is bound to your will, just as you say you are bound to your father’s will.”

In his agitation, Legolas now moved towards Estel rather than away, his hand out and his broken, splinted fingers pointing at the human. “No, it is because he is my friend and wants what is best for me, not what is best for him,” the Prince fulminated, his quiescence returning to ire as their conversation came full circle back to the periapt. “Kalin removed the periapt from me, the one that you allowed to remain, because he wanted my mind to be free of enthrallment even if it meant my dying. He told me to go after Mithfindl, to leave him, because he knew that hate and the desire to kill Mithfindl were all that have kept me alive. He knew when we left the valley that either or both of us might not return but was eager to accompany me, to aid me, so that I could see Mithfindl dead. Do not denigrate his actions by making it sound as if I controlled him, as if he were enthralled as I have been over the last week. He had a choice whether to remain or follow me, and he did his duty in saving me, which was his choice, as well.”

For the exhausted, feverish, and fuming Ranger, this was still no excuse and he said as much to Legolas. “You thought nothing of Kalin. You fled the valley, leaving us all to worry over you, to risk our own lives in searching the forest for you, and even after Kalin saved your life from falling into that Troll-made pit, still you left Kalin to die,” the Ranger uncharitably contended, his anger twisting his words into something more malicious than what he meant to say when he persisted, “I know you have suffered but you are only bringing those around you suffering by thinking of nothing but yourself in seeking out Mithfindl for revenge. You have thought only of yourself. You have been selfish.”

The moment that the words left his mouth, the Adan regretted them even before he saw his lover’s reaction to his criticism. Legolas’ princely shoulders wilted until they curled inwards and his arms then wrapped around his naked belly, as if he were hugging himself. The Elf slowly turned his back upon the Ranger; he shambled to the nearest tree, where he put a hand upon the rough bark of the oak and leant his weight against it. Days long past, in a sick room in Thranduil’s halls, the Ranger had seen the Elf look this overwhelmed before when Elrohir had asked the Prince if Thranduil had beaten into him the laegel’s acceptance of fault for the transgressions committed against him. That day, he had thought he would do anything to ensure the Prince never looked as such again; however, not only did Legolas appear just as defeated now as he did then, but Aragorn was the cause of it.

“Greenleaf,” he began but trailed off; he could not take back what he had said.

Again speaking in barely more than a whisper, the Elf asked, “Selfish? Is that what I have been, Estel? All these months, you have promised me I am no burden; yet, now you tell me I have been nothing but an affliction, a millstone about your neck. All the promises that you made to me of forgiveness, of telling me that I am not befouled by the merchants’ and Mithfindl’s deeds, that my mind is not unsound – was it all a lie? To Minyatar, to Elladan and Elrohir, to my sentries, to my father, and to you – I have been nothing but a selfish fool. So even you believe me to be mad, feeble, and pathetic.”

The Prince’s pride was offended but the Elf did not respond to the human’s barbs with retaliatory insults. No, Legolas was staggered by the human’s thoughtlessly cruel words, accepted them easily as truth, and now questioned whether the human even loved him, saying with a self-deprecating, mirthless laugh that held no sarcasm but only hatred for himself, “Then why bother with me, Estel? Lest your sharing my bed is recompense for the trouble through which I have put you. I am truly the whore that Mithfindl claims if that is so, although I would not hold it against you. You would need some incentive to tolerate me, I suppose, since I am a stupid, wretched whore; too mad to be taken seriously, too weak to be left to my own devices, and too tainted to merit anything more than the torment I have received. And now I learn that I am selfish, too. I suppose it was selfish of me to live when I ought to have died in Lake-town or in the woods thereafter. Then I would not have caused anyone misery. You are right. If I had died, none of this would have happened, and I am selfish for not fading when I had the chance.”

Estel stood in stunned silence, unable to follow the laegel’s logic, though to the Ranger, it sounded like the foul opinion of the now erased scar. All that he had wanted was to comfort the Prince, to speak to him to clear the stagnancy between them, and all he was doing was aggrieving the already fraught Silvan. A clap of thunder startled the Adan out of his dumbstruck confusion. The rain had lulled but was recommencing as new storm clouds rolled into the area. _Idiot,_ he called himself, yanking his soaked hair painfully out of his face. Over the last months, the Ranger had grown adept at combatting the perverse logic of the Elf’s grief. This time, though, the human could find nothing to say to the Wood-Elf. Before, it always seemed that the laegel was reluctant to believe the scar or was fighting against its opinions – this time it seemed that these opinions were ones that the laegel already espoused.

The Elf wiped his hand over his rain-dampened brow and dragged it down his bruised visage. Before the Ranger could find the words to apologize, Legolas was saying it instead. The Wood-Elf held a hand over his mouth, reminding Aragorn of someone about to retch, which muffled his voice as he told the Adan, “I am sorry, Estel. I did not mean to cause you strife. Any of you. That is all I am capable of doing, it seems. I bring everyone nothing but worry and heartache. Already I have given all of you every reason to detest me just by surviving, because I have been nothing but a burden since. I promise you,” the Silvan told the Ranger wholeheartedly, as if the human would truly be relieved to hear it, “after I end Mithfindl, I will end my own life or leave, and give none of you anymore cause to fret over me. But I cannot die until I complete this task. Once we are near enough to the valley, you will be free of me. Bear with me a couple of days to get you safely home; that is all I ask. And then you will be rid of me and my selfishness, I promise you,” the Elf told him with all the solemn conviction of someone who believed every word he was saying, who believed that Estel would actually want the Elf to die or leave him, who believed that he was a burden to his friends and family, and who believed his lover when the human told him that he was being selfish.

In the last week, the Silvan had been viciously tied, his mind purposively muddled, his body repeatedly, savagely beaten and brutally defiled. His mind had been taken over by Mithfindl, who had turned the Elf against everyone, caused him to trust no one, and forced the Prince to act in ways that undermined Legolas’ sanity, not to mention his will to live. The foolish Ranger realized that he was taking his frustration and worry out upon the laegel, criticizing the Elf just because the Ranger felt frustrated and afraid for him, and making Legolas assume the blame for what had happened to him, which was just as Thranduil had a habit of doing. Legolas was even apologizing for all of it, which was just how he typically appeased Thranduil’s anger.

In awe at his own stupidity, the Ranger then understood, _And I left the periapt upon him, just as Thranduil did, because I was just as desperate as Thranduil to keep Legolas with me. It meant more to me to have Greenleaf alive than for him to want to live._ Although the Elf was the one who appeared as though he might be sick, it was the human’s belly that moiled at the thought of his being anything like the laegel’s oftentimes abusive, controlling, and egotistical father. _I am acting just as Thranduil would, except this time Thranduil remained in the valley, knowing what I have only just come to understand. Legolas needed to do this. It was not selfishness that made him do this; it was love for us, yes, and a desire to avenge what Mithfindl perpetrated against his father and me, but Legolas needed to do it himself to reclaim his body and mind as his own._

The Elf was not weeping and he did not appear sad; instead, the Wood-Elf only stared at the Adan in earnest desire for the human’s forgiveness, which he sought because the Ranger had convinced him that he ought to be ashamed for his actions. Estel could take it no more. In a single, long stride, the Ranger cleared the space between them. Hoping that the Elf would not step back or pull away this time, Aragorn slid his arms around Legolas’ shoulders and heaved the Silvan to him. At first, the Wood-Elf tried to step back, to pull away from this affection that he likely felt he did not deserve, but the Ranger did not relent. As he had moments before, the Prince finally relaxed and burrowed his face against the human’s neck, though this time Legolas did not return the embrace.

“Be quiet,” he gruffly told the Elf, his arms winding more tightly around Legolas, while he laid his cheek upon the Prince’s temple. “I am a fool, Greenleaf. I should not have called you selfish. It is only my fear for you overwhelming my better sense. I have walked these woods for days now, cursing you for causing me worry, but you are not to blame. I had planned to leave you in the valley and look for Mithfindl myself, to kill him to ensure that you were safe from him, back when I thought that Faelthîr would be able to tell us where he was. It is thoughtless of me to be angered at you for doing the same to protect me. I have no right to judge your actions, much less what transpired between you and Kalin. I know that he wanted you to continue to Mithfindl, for he told me as much on our way to the outpost. It is because I had hoped Kalin would be with you to help keep you safe or kill Mithfindl that I was so incensed at you for leaving him behind.”

As he’d longed to do for days now, as he had desired since the moment he’d noticed whom it was that saved him from drowning, and as he’d thus far only been given a brief chance to do, the Ranger held tight to the Wood-Elf. If Legolas tried now to pull away from Aragorn, he would have to battle his way free because Estel was not letting go. Their separation had not been long, but something voracious and needy inside the human, something that was never content unless he could feel the living flesh of his lover under his hands, was suddenly assuaged by the contact. He inhaled the smell of the Elf, listened to the slight sound of the Prince’s breathing, and pressed his lips against the laegel’s temple before replacing his cheek there.

“I should be the one apologizing, Greenleaf. I am sorry. I am sorry that when I learnt of what your father had done I did not immediately try to remove the stone. I am selfish, not you. But I promise you, my love, I wanted only for you to live. Your father thought to give you time to learn the truth of what happened, to be certain that you understood that I was not the one to have harmed you, so that you would not fade from grief caused by misplaced blame that might otherwise be ameliorated by knowing the truth. We wanted only to give you a chance to choose to live,” Aragorn tried to explain.

The Ranger sighed in relief when the Silvan’s arms hesitantly slid around his waist; his earlier words had been more than just callous and unkind, the Adan realized, because he had renewed the doubts in Legolas’ mind that the Elf already held in concerns to his seeming worthlessness, uncalled for shame, and apparent failures – all doubts of which Thranduil perpetuated to keep Thranduilion in line. “I should have argued to have the periapt removed, I know, and for that I am sorry, but I wanted only for you to live. You are all that your father has and you are all that I want, Greenleaf. Neither of us could imagine life without you.”

Aragorn told the Elf what he had only just discovered about himself, confessing with no small degree of embarrassment, “None of this is your doing and none of it is your fault. I have been angered with you for putting yourself at risk but I am a fool for thinking that I could keep you forever safe and with me, and then blaming you for being hurt as if you asked for any of it. You are not pathetic, nor weak, and certainly not mad. You are acting as you would normally – nobly and selflessly, which are the traits that first made me come to love you so greatly. It is only because my fear of losing you is so excessive that I seek to protect you when once I would have trusted you to take care of yourself, as I know you can do. Ignore this silly human’s reproaches.” Getting to the crux of his admission, the Ranger took a deep breath, squeezed the Elf ever tighter, and told him, “I have treated you as your father treats you, Greenleaf, and for that I cannot begin to beg forgiveness.”

His hands fisting in the tunic upon the man’s back, the distressed Prince seemed to unwind within the man’s arms until his slight weight was resting against the human’s form, as if he was too tired to stand on his own.

“Then you do not hate me, Estel? For what I have done? For leaving the valley and causing you worry? For leaving Kalin behind? Or for being so weak that I let Mithfindl control me? For being fool enough to think he was you? For failing to kill him to keep you safe?” the Silvan asked in rapid succession, his voice weary, as if he would not trust the human’s answer regardless of what he said. “You truly do not think me weak, selfish, and mad?”

“You are the same as you ever were; the same Elf I fell in love with years ago and have only grown to love more since that day. You are the strongest being I have known to have endured so many trials but remained warm and not lose the joy in your faer. You may be grieving but I have never thought you to be mad, despite the scar and what it might tell you. And you are the most selfless person I know.” With one arm, the Ranger constricted his embrace upon the Prince such that he feared aggravating Legolas’ bruised torso, while he brought his other arm up to press his hand against the side of the Wood-Elf’s face so that he could angle the laegel’s head to speak directly into his delicately pointed ear. “Greenleaf, nothing will ever make hate you.”

Long past when they should have moved on, the two stood there with their bodies pressed tightly together. The Ranger could only hope that the Elf no longer questioned his love for him and that he had allayed the very misgivings and uncertainties that he had placed in the Prince’s mind. However, it wasn’t until when in a long, ragged breath Legolas sighed his relief to hear this assurance that the Ranger pulled away. Now that the gap between them had been bridged – at least for the time being – Estel would have his way, see to the Elf’s injuries, and hear his story.

“Come,” Estel implored his Elven lover, suggesting, “Let us sit a minute. Let me see to your wounds and let us rest.”


	12. Chapter 12

Although Aragorn had told Legolas that he wanted to see to the Elf’s injuries, he did neither for now. Plopping down onto the muddy ground with his back against a tree trunk, the Ranger opened his arms in welcome for the Silvan, who gladly accepted this invitation. Legolas sat between the human’s sprawled legs but faced Estel, instead, such that when he leant forward into the man, their chests were flush, their arms wrapped around each other, and Legolas’ long legs were draped loosely around the human’s waist and the trunk of the tree behind the man. Aragorn took a deep breath as though to begin speaking but after a brief pause let it loose in a contented suspiration. He had much more to say to the human, as he knew that Estel did to him, also; however, right now, he wanted only to sit in his Ranger’s arms. He was likely crushing the human, since he was practically sitting in Aragorn’s lap with his arms and legs enfolded around the Adan, but Estel did not complain.

 _We should not tarry any longer,_ the Prince thought, though he dismissed this in favor of enjoying his lover’s presence.

Rain pattered down through the leaves overhead, which blocked most of the once more torrential downpour. After several contented moments, Legolas disentwined himself from Estel and scooted back. Seeing the sorrow upon Aragorn’s face, the Elf felt compelled to say out of centuries’ old habit, “I am sorry, Estel.”

“Stop,” the Ranger rebuked gently. Estel placed a hand upon either side of the laegel’s face and by this hold pulled the Wood-Elf towards him so that he could place a chaste kiss upon the Prince’s bruised forehead. “No more apologies. You owe me none.”

If Estel was to be believed – and the laegel was very eager to believe him – then the human had been cruel and thoughtless because of how worried he was for the Silvan. It was the same cycle of events that he and his father maintained, Estel was right of that; the human would know, for he had seen for himself and heard about it on many occasions, though he was not often privy to the violence that occasionally took place. In fact, just as Estel had apologized, Thranduil often showed contrition for his behavior and promised never to repeat his thrashings or castigation, but always seemed to when next he needed to control the Prince. The laegel thus far had not been successful in breaking this cycle, save for when he had left Mirkwood for Imladris after getting a particularly vicious beating from Thranduil. Yet, Legolas held no doubts that Aragorn spoke honestly, that he did not blame the Elf, that he truly did not believe the Prince to be mad or selfish, and he accepted that the human had been speaking out of fear rather than abhorrence for him.

The Wood-Elf could have listened to his father or practically anyone else’s upbraidment and remained steady, but he had never experienced the Ranger’s censure before – his irritation, yes, but never such ire coupled with reproach that hit upon many of the qualms that he already held – and experiencing the human’s disapproval just now had shaken the already disconcerted Elf. So low already these days was his estimation of his worth that to have Estel agree with his own worst opinions of himself had disheartened Legolas entirely. Aragorn’s words had stung him deeply; while Estel’s apology was a balm to those wounds, Legolas thought he would never again assume that he would receive the unconditional love and acceptance from the human that he had always found in Estel before – to feel this way hurt more than the man’s condemnation, for he feared that this particular gap between them could never be bridged.

His hands caressing the sides of the Elf’s face, the Ranger pulled the laegel to him again to place another chaste kiss upon his brow, before asking of him, “I have no supplies to tend them truly, Greenleaf, but can I check your injuries to ensure that none of them are dire?”

The Wood-Elf nodded. At once, Aragorn began at the top of the Silvan’s head, where he palpated the knots there. He let the Adan do as he would and was glad for the comforting ritual of it. As Estel had felt moments ago, some part of the Elf’s body that was never satiated until he could feel Aragorn’s rough hands upon him or until he could smell the piquant scent of the Adan, a part of his faer that remained restless until he would find himself in the Ranger’s embrace again, was now pacified. 

“I truly am grateful that you saved me from the river for a second time,” the Ranger told the Elf with a transient smile, bringing up the topic that had started the Wood-Elf’s weeping a short while ago.

Once more, the memory made tears spring to the Elf’s eyes and he turned his face down to try to hide them, to keep Estel from his ever-growing worry. He remembered that night of swimming very well. The grizzled, timeworn Ranger of today had then been only an innocent child, but the Prince had been innocent, as well, in many matters. That summer he first met Estel was one of the best years of his life, filled with memories that he had and would cherish beyond the end of all things. The precocious, talkative, and inquisitive Adan of then was a brooding, quiet, and knowledgeable man now, but the Elf loved him no less for how he had transformed. Indeed, the longer that he knew Estel, the more he came to love him, it seemed. And yet, it pained the Prince to think of how different they had both become – the human changed with the rapidity of the Secondborn, whose lives seemed a quickly moving, chaotic mess to an Elf, and the Prince not changed much at all until the last several months, when his life had been drastically altered forever.

“Greenleaf?” the human asked. Aragorn stopped prodding the cut upon the Elf’s throat, put two fingers under the Prince’s chin, and raised his head upon seeing that the laegel’s eyes were welled with tears.

But the Wood-Elf did not want to explain any of this to Aragorn and so only shook his head, giving the man what he hoped was an assuring smile. Although Estel now watched the Prince more closely, he went back to checking Legolas’ bruises, his strong hands moving downwards to the Prince’s shoulders, his upper arms, and then to the Silvan’s chest, his fingers prodding and kneading while in search of broken bones. The gentle massage of his sore and bruised flesh was calming to the harried Wood-Elf. “I wasn’t sure you were real,” he told the Ranger, unaware of how his words instantly obliterated Estel’s ease. “I almost didn’t jump in to save you at first because I thought I was hallucinating.”

Good-naturedly, as though the Elf’s admission hadn’t caused his heart to race with terror, the human asked, “And why wouldn’t I be real? Why would I be a hallucination?”

He did not want to speak of what had happened with Mithfindl, of his time in the cave, or of his time spent in the cesspool, but the words came anyway. He owed the Ranger an explanation, he knew. Aragorn had apologized for his calling the Prince selfish and the Elf had already forgiven him for it, but the laegel was not ready to forget because he understood that he was selfish for what he’d done. And he’d paid the price – as had Kalin. Besides, Legolas was certain that he would not live long enough to share this tale with his friends and father. If he told Estel now, then upon his death, they would have some knowledge of how it had all come to pass. It might be of some comfort to them later to have these details.

While Aragorn checked the splints tied to the Elf’s fingers, Legolas considered how to explain why he had thought Estel to be an illusion. None of it would make sense unless he started from the beginning, so he found himself saying, “I walked right up to the pond, my only plan to convince Mithfindl that I was still under the sway of the periapt. He could have been hiding anywhere, lying in wait for me, so I thought to have him lower his guard – and his bow – so that I could attack him. I suppose I could have tried to kill him from a distance, but I did not want to give him the chance to see me first and escape or to kill me before I had my chance to kill him. Besides, I wanted most to see his face while I slit his throat or stabbed him through the heart. I wanted him to know that I had done it,” he explicated.

His words might have sounded callous or cruel to someone who did not know all that the Noldo had done to the Prince. To Aragorn, though, who knew more than most of what the laegel had suffered, this desire to kill Mithfindl up close needed no further explanation. After all, the human had cut Kane’s manhood free of his body because of the same desire for Kane to know just how and why he was to die slowly, painfully, and without mercy.

The Ranger paused in his work of tightening the ties upon the splints to ask in wonder, “And it worked? He believed you were under the stone’s sway?”

“It did. He did. But I could not maintain the act, not when he began to touch me, when he began telling me how he would soon be torturing me.” Legolas pulled his legs up to his chest to begin picking at the slivers of bones that were still stuck in the flesh of his knees; he did it to occupy himself rather than see the horrified look upon Estel’s face. He was determined to tell this story only once and so tried to do it well enough to satisfy the man’s curiosity. “I attacked him then. I broke his nose,” he told the Ranger with a wistful smile, still scratching at the skin on his knees.

In exasperation at the Elf’s lack of care in how he treated his injuries, Aragorn pushed the laegel’s hands away and looked at the Silvan’s knees for himself. Estel picked free a sliver of bone, gave it a thoughtful, confused frown since he could not tell what it was that was embedded in the laegel’s skin, and asked, “You broke his nose? I would have liked to see that.”

Legolas gave the human a grin. To be honest, it pleased the Elf to have broken the Noldo’s nose again. The damp of the rain soaked ground seeped coldly through his trousers. When Aragorn gave up trying to remove the multitude of bone fragments from the Prince’s knees, Legolas stretched his legs out and took to squelching his toes in the mud. The Elf did not mind being barefoot. He’d always liked the feel of grass, leaves, and dirt beneath him. As he dug his toes deeper into the mud, he continued, “Mithfindl is stronger than I am. I could not overpower him. I could not even manage to pull my long knife before he was atop me. He wanted me alive to continue his games and so thought to subdue me with a blade at my throat. But I did not care if he killed me, so long as I did not have to suffer his touch any longer.”

Having finished checking over the Elf, Aragorn now sat back against the tree trunk. He pulled one of the Prince’s legs to him and began rubbing the laegel’s calf in distraction. When the Silvan’s muddied toes scraped across the human’s torso during the Adan’s moving of his leg, they left a smirch of black soil over the human’s belly. Legolas stared at this smudge as he spoke.

“He beat my head against a rock until I was nearly unconscious, dragged me inside a cave, and though I tried repeatedly to be free of him, I was so disoriented that he was easily able to tie my hands behind my back. He hit me constantly, keeping me dazed,” the Elf alluded, finding it too taxing to give Estel all the details of what had happened, and so succinctly told the man, “He removed my tunic and began to remove my trousers, which is when I realized that if I did not get free of him soon, he would then tie my legs and I would be utterly at his mercy.”

Not due to cold or damp but because of the memory of the Noldo’s mouth and teeth biting and licking their way across his chest and Mithfindl’s salacious, unwanted groping of his body, the laegel briefly shuddered; try though he did to hide it from the Ranger, with the Elf’s leg in his hands, Aragorn felt this short-lived shiver. In response, Estel took hold of the other of the Silvan’s legs, brought them both to his lap, and then scooted forward so that Legolas’ limbs were draped over his own and he could take hold of the Prince’s uninjured hand. It wasn’t until the Ranger’s hand was entwined in his that Legolas realized that he had been rubbing the flesh over his thigh where the mar once had lain. He could see by the look upon Aragorn’s face that the human thought he was pestering his leg to quiet the vile voice.

“While he fondled me and bit me, the scar was spouting its abuses,” he admitted to Estel, who was unsurprised to hear this since he thought that the scar spoke to the Elf now, as well. “It told me to lie back and take what was coming to me, that I deserved it, that I ought to have died rather than let Elrond heal me. It was nothing that I have not heard or thought before, but listening to its opinions while listening to Mithfindl tell me how he wanted to hear me snivel and moan for mercy while he rode me as himself, rather than having me think it was you, made me feel like perhaps I ought to do as they both suggested. Perhaps I ought to have just lain there and let him have his way with me, since I was weak enough to be bested by him, since I was the whore he claimed.”

He had thought that he would not be able to tell the Ranger such particulars but they were rankling inside him; Aragorn was only one of a few to whom he could ever tell any of these details. However, the Elf stopped speaking aloud, cautioning himself, _You are only making this worse. Estel does not need to know all of it. Just tell him what will pacify him and move on._ He was speaking too much, he knew, since the once placid Ranger was quickly becoming enraged again. This time, the human’s ire was not for him, but still, Legolas feared something similar to what the Adan feared – that his lover would recklessly take off through the woods in search of Mithfindl to exact revenge.

“Mithfindl felt for the periapt to try to control me when I fought him and so learnt that I wore the stone no longer. He knew then that you were not dead, as he had assumed since I came to him and that I was supposed to find him only after killing you. None of that stopped him from his desire to ravage me. In fact, I think he was happy to know that you were not dead so that he could kill you himself. He knew you would be out in the woods searching for me; he knew that I had come alone because no one had interrupted him thus far. When I only torpidly laid there awaiting his brutality, when I felt how I use to feel to avoid the pain and shame of what the merchants did to me, I lost the will to fight him.”

The Elf squeezed his human lover’s hand and gave him an affectionate smile, his consuming love for Estel lighting his being, and making his contused face radiant with the comburent potency of it. “But then, Mithfindl began telling me what he would do to you when he found you. He told me that he would make you watch him despoil me, as you were forced to watch Sven and Cort do. He promised to torture you in front of me, to break your body and my mind. Just as happened in the woods next to the training fields, when Mithfindl first accosted me, his threatening you and speaking ill of you broke through my numbness and renewed my will to be free, to keep you safe from him.”

If Estel found it odd how his Elven lover smiled while relaying these sordid facts, he said nothing but returned the Silvan’s strange happiness with his own fleeting, encouraging smile. The darkened woods around them were lit momentarily by a magnificent streak of lightning. The pungent, metallic smell of it was carried to them on the speeding wind; only moments later, the accompanying thunder rolled overhead. The storms were worsening, it seemed, and this one would be dangerous when it hit.

Thus far, Aragorn had remained quiet, allowing Legolas to say what he would, although the Elf had yet to answer the question put to him about why he thought the Ranger had been an illusion drowning in the river. But now, the Ranger had questions. He watched the human swallow thickly. The Adan hedged, as if hesitant whether to speak, but finally, the Ranger prompted vaguely, “Greenleaf. Your tunic is gone, your trousers’ lacing is missing, and you have bite marks upon your chest…”

“He tried. He almost did,” the laegel confessed, knowing just what Estel was trying to ask. “But he wanted to remove my trousers before he tied my legs, which gave me the chance to rise up and hit him in the nose again with my forehead. When he was distracted by the pain and because he was so sure I was immobile, I was able to slide my bound hands under my legs so that they were in front of me, which was the best I could do at that moment, since he soon saw that I was no longer lying quiescent upon the floor. We fought over his dagger,” the laegel explicated, showing the Ranger the slashes upon his hands from the blade. The human had already seen these mild cuts but now knew why they were there. “Somehow, I was able to grab it and stab him in the chest, though he deflected it just enough that I missed his heart. He choked me while I struggled to stab him again, threw me from atop him, and then lunged at me, which is when we both nearly fell into a pit at the back of the cave, except Mithfindl managed to cling to the edge, while I fell to the bottom.”

“A pit in the cave? You mean a Troll made pit, like the one that Kalin fell into?” the Adan asked in incredulity.

“Not exactly. This pit was not dug into the ground but in the living rock of the floor of the cave. It was not filled with stakes but shattered bones from Troll meals long past, dirt and filth from the decaying remains, and the most rancid water in which I have ever had the misfortune of being mired.” Fiddling with the torn open knees to his trousers, wherein the evidence of the decaying bones was stuck in his flesh, Legolas saw as understanding came over the human’s face. Estel now knew what the Prince kept trying to remove from his skin. “Kalin was not there to save me from falling into this pit, however.”

Estel swept his hand over the laegel’s brow, pushing away the rain-drenched hair that kept falling forward into the Wood-Elf’s face. The human could not seem to stop touching the Elf now that he knew he was welcome to do so. “Is that where you’ve been since you left Kalin, before you found me at the river?”

“Yes. I was not sure how long I was down there. It felt like weeks but you say that it has only been two days.” He checked the woods around them, listening and looking keenly. Already they had stayed too long in one spot. If he wanted to get Estel safely to the valley, then they would need to leave soon. He would chance his own life in finding Mithfindl, but he would not risk Estel’s life. To be done with it, he carried on, “Luckily, there was enough water to break my fall; else, I would have broken my neck. It was utterly dark in the pit. On a small outcrop with a sharp edge, I was able to severe the rope that bound my hands but I could not climb out because it was too deep and the walls sheer. Mithfindl fashioned a torch, which was when I saw how hopelessly caught I was. He would not climb down to fetch his whore because he feared that he would not be able to climb back up.” With a snort of dark humor, the Elf told the human, “He was like an Elfling with his favorite toy taken away. He threw a tantrum on the ledge of the pit, nearly in tears because he did not have the chance to rape me a final time.”

At detecting the Ranger’s scowl, Legolas noted that Aragorn was not amused but aghast at hearing the Elf speak of himself as the Noldo’s plaything; the laegel moderated his humor and his words. “He had my bow and quiver but would not kill me, although I baited him into trying. I do not know if it was mercy that stayed his hand or the pleasure of thinking of me starving to death. He told me that if his hunt for you was successful, he would return for me. I think that Mithfindl believed he would catch you – either by convincing you to submit to him, since he had me as leverage, or that he would kill you and then could come back and take his time in breaking me.”

For a few long moments, they sat in silence broken only by the increasing thunder of the oncoming storm, until the Adan reasoned, “So then he expects you to be there upon his return. If he has returned already to the cave, he will know you are free.”

“Yes. But I do not know if he would have returned to the cave yet or not, for your death was of greater importance. When he saw that he could not have me again, when he saw that he could only leave me there – at least for the time being – Mithfindl spoke to me, explaining why he hated you so much.” Legolas’ hand was still entwined with the human’s hand; he brought both their hands up to his face to lay his cheek against Aragorn’s knuckles. “He seeks revenge, Estel. He thinks that you have ruined his life and so has been trying to ruin your life in return. His and Faelthîr’s plan fell to the wayside when he realized that night that he could find his revenge against you by using me, while also being able to sate the lust he felt for me.”

Estel knew this already, of course. The reminder of it cast a shadow over the human’s well-defined features, his mouth set into a grim line, for Aragorn felt guilty. Had he not attacked Mithfindl on the training grounds that day, breaking the Noldo’s nose and humiliating him in front of the other warriors, perhaps nothing more would have come of all of it. Arguing as if the human thought that the Elf was condoning Mithfindl’s actions, the Ranger replied, “Mithfindl began this by accosting you in the forest. He had no right to treat you as such.”

“Even then, however, he did not know that I had been attacked by the merchants. He did not know that I suffered from the madness of grief, or the scar, or that my acquiescence to his perversion was not consent. In that moment, as he told me all this, standing on the ledge of the pit looking down upon me, I felt more sorry for Mithfindl than I did myself,” he had to divulge to the human, though he quickly added, “but no, he had no right to treat me like he did and you were just, if not a bit overzealous, in taking him to task for it.”

“For all through which you have suffered, Greenleaf, which is far more than Mithfindl has endured, you have not used your sorrow as an excuse to harm anyone else, as has Mithfindl. It was his greed and weakness of mind that made his faer darken, that made him turn upon his own kind, and to be so cruel and act repulsively. Do not waste your time feeling sympathy for that sewer rat,” the Ranger inveighed sharply. “He left you in that pit to die and yet you felt sorry for him as he stood over you? I do not understand it.”

Legolas didn’t entirely understand himself, either, but he had spoken truthfully. The rancorous Ranger’s ruing was rhetorical and so Legolas did not respond. Instead, the laegel let go of Estel’s hand, pulled his legs away from where they reclined over the human’s, and moved so that he sat upon his heels. He was growing impatient to leave but he also acted without thought as to why he felt suddenly uncomfortable around Estel when the man appeared so livid. “He said that after he killed you he would let me go free – that he didn’t even care if I killed him then. If I had not been in the pit, he would have defiled me again, if he had the chance. He would have kept me tied while he searched for you or used me as bait to lure you or try to force you to do as he commanded, but in that brief moment ere he left, I saw Mithfindl differently. I saw him as what I might have become had not I had you, Elrohir, Elladan, Minyatar, and Kalin to keep joy in my life. Indeed, in a strange act of kindness, Mithfindl threw down the milk of the poppy that he’d brought with him to subdue me if I wore the periapt still. Perhaps he was not entirely evil.”

He could feel Estel’s eyes upon him, gauging the Elf’s story, his odd humor in telling it, the compassion he had admitted feeling for Mithfindl, and the laegel’s hasty movement away from him. Finding some patience left within his quickly depleting supply, the human inquired, displaying more calm than he actually felt, “Why would he do such a thing? Why would he leave you the poppy medicines? And why is that kindness?”

“He could not know if he would return for me. Even if he had managed to find and kill you, he might not be able to come back to haul me out of the pit. Or if you or one of the Imladrians killed him, none would ever know where I was. I might have starved to death in there, if I had not already chosen to fade after days of being in the dark, hungry, thirsty, and alone,” he tried to elucidate, although in truth, Legolas was not certain why Mithfindl had done it; more importantly, explaining this to the Ranger was bringing forth the very topic that the laegel most wanted to keep hidden from the human. “He left the poppy out of kindness because it was a way to die peacefully.”

“But you did not take it,” the Ranger said, smiling with relief that having been given the easy way out, the Prince had decided to live, instead. Perhaps the Adan could see how the Elf was returning to his withdrawn and sorrowful state, for he mimicked the Prince’s pose by sitting upon his heels in front of the Wood-Elf before he idly began to pick leaves and twigs out of the Silvan’s impossibly snarled and dirty hair. Doing so was just an excuse to handle the Wood-Elf, to comfort him in any way he could. “And you got free, when he thought you would not.”

Legolas could not look at the man. He could not tell Aragorn how he had held the phials to his chest with unfeeling, bleeding fingers, indecisive as to whether to starve to death or die in tranquil sleep. He could not tell Estel how he had chosen the poppy, how he had wished for death, longed for it. He could not tell his lover how the scar had reviled him, how since the scar itself was gone, he’d had no way to quiet the voice and so had imbibed the poppy tincture to quell his grief’s recriminations.

“Greenleaf.”

Still he did not look up. To tell Estel that in the end, he had drank the poppy milk to ease his mind and pain, and had hallucinated during that time, would only revisit his madness and cause Aragorn to worry.

Insistently, placing a hand upon both of the Elf’s shoulders, Estel said again, “Greenleaf.”

Shaking himself like a waterlogged dog, the Wood-Elf pulled away from the human and made as though to stand. “It doesn’t matter. We should go,” he said. “The longer we stay here, the more you are in danger, and already we have wasted too much time speaking of this.”

But the Ranger would not be denied. He grabbed hold of Legolas’ arm to hold him, to keep him sitting upon the ground with him. With a grunt of pain, the surprised Elf fell back into sitting and was somewhat startled by being manhandled by the Ranger. Aragorn vehemently requested of him, “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

The boughs above kept the greater part of the rain off them, yes, but when the gusting wind began to shake the tree limbs, the water collected upon the trees’ leaves began to fall in fat, drenching drops. Legolas was weary of being wet. He thought to find some excuse or make an empty promise to get them moving again, just to avoid ending this conversation with a reminder of his folly. Estel had only just assured the Elf that he did not believe him to be a lunatic but now he would prove Aragorn otherwise.

“I do not know for how long I was down there before I did it, but eventually I drank one of the phials of the milk of the poppy that he left for me. I wanted to sleep, perhaps, and to quiet the scar,” he tried to equivocate, but settled on telling the whole truth by adding, “and to die, if I could. The phial contained much more than he had given my father, so I thought it would be enough to kill me.”

At seeing the Ranger’s disappointment, at seeing that his lover now believed him suicidal, the Prince shut his mouth with an audible snap and was determined to say no more. _But I was suicidal. I wanted to die._

“Please, Greenleaf. Please tell me,” the human implored, his grave face showing the familiar, perpetual uneasiness that seemed at home upon the man’s whiskered visage these days.

He had never been good at telling the Adan no. He could not deny the Ranger this.

“It took only a short time after drinking the poppy before I was asleep. I do not recall falling into sleep but I remember dreaming. Of my Naneth, my Ada. Of Minyatar and the twins. Of Kalin, of when I was younger. And of you. I dreamt often and mostly of you. The most pleasant dreams and memories came to me, such that when I awoke, I did not know where I was or what was happening for a short while. And once remembering, I felt on the brink of hysteria,” he explained. Once more, as he spoke he refused to look up to the Ranger, for he could not continue otherwise. If Estel was tired of seeing Legolas hurt, then Legolas was just as tired of seeing Estel worried. “Of course, I was not dead, as I’d hoped to be, and decided to drink the other phial to try again to die, but I knocked the phial into the cesspool and could not find it.”

He had no intention of telling the Ranger how he’d searched the cave or how desperate he had been to die. He didn’t need to; Estel could see it on the Elf’s face. Aragorn knew that the story he heard was only the part of the tale that would relate what had happened without upsetting the human further, but the Adan also knew his lover well enough to read between the lines.

“The water from the pond was overflowing its bank and it began to flood the cave and the pit in which I was stuck, but I think some underground lake or stream was feeding the cesspool, as well, for the water was rising rapidly. I fell into sleep again. When I awoke, I was floating upon my back in the fetid water, for it had risen high.” Finally chancing to look at Estel, he could see that the Ranger was thinking what the Elf had not intended to say – that he had almost drowned whilst asleep. And then, Legolas answered the question that had been put to him at the start – the one that had prompted him into telling this sordid tale of his – and a titanic grin spread over his face as he recalled the joy he had felt to see Estel in that dank, lightless cave with nothing but corpses and the mephitic water as company. “When I awoke, I soon heard you call my name. You were there in that awful place with me. You were like the moon on a dark night, when Ithil comes out from behind the clouds to light the path home. When my faer was at ready to fade, you were there, standing on the precipice of the pit, your hand out and smiling down upon me.”

“You hallucinated me, you mean?” the human asked, his distress growing in tandem with his agitation, despite how happy the Wood-Elf was in answering his question.

“Yes. Seeing your face hardened my resolve to live, to keep my promise to you to kill Mithfindl to protect you, Estel.” Legolas looked out across the forest. The rain was beating down upon them but as they were both already drenched, it made little difference and so they had sought no drier shelter. “You were ephemeral; yet, seeing you is what made me realize how far the water had risen. It was by the light of your illusion that I saw this. Had I not hallucinated you, I might not have tried to climb out just then. Also, it was because of the scar speaking of you when I saw you there with me, saying that you deserved to be caught by Mithfindl for being fool enough to love me, that I have finally extirpated it from my mind.”

Aragorn reached out for the Elf’s chin to draw his gaze away from the forest and back to him. “The scar is gone, Greenleaf? The voice is no more?” he asked in unintentional disbelief.

Legolas had thought the scar’s vociferations were gone for good after the last two months of recuperating in the valley, but had always held a latent fear for its return. A few words from Mithfindl, pretending to be Estel, saying that he agreed with Thranduil in his opinion of the Prince being a whore for the humans, was all that it had taken for the fell voice to return. Somehow, he had rid himself of the scar easily – just by denying its hold over him.

“It is gone, Estel. For good this time.” Lifting his chin out of the Adan’s grasp, the laegel walked upon his knees until he was sitting astride the man’s thighs. He yearned to appease the Ranger’s anxiety. Placing his cheek upon the Ranger’s whiskered cheek, the Elf wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and immediately felt the Adan return his embrace. “When I saw you at the river, I thought for a moment that it was too good to be true, that perhaps I dreamt still and never escaped the pit, or that you were another hallucination. So eager was I to see you that I couldn’t believe my eyes, which is why I almost didn’t jump in to save you,” he explained, having taken a circuitous route to answering the man’s question, but finally doing so all the same.

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As the Prince dreaded, the Ranger also feared that they had spent too much time in this one spot, meaning that should Mithfindl have found the human’s footprints somewhere, he could be trailing them right now. However, Aragorn shut his eyes to drown out all sight; he tried to focus his hearing upon the beat of the Elf’s heart; he ignored the cold rainwater and the agony of his wounded, infected belly. He wanted only to think of Legolas for a few moments.

 _Thank you, Eru. Thank you for sparing him from being defiled again. Thank you for helping him out of that pit,_ the human prayed. As frightening as it was to hear that the Elf had suffered from hallucinations – even under the influence of entirely too much poppy – he could imagine nothing short of divine intervention that had caused the Prince to hallucinate in such a way that would foment his desire to live and show him that he could leave the pit. With a start, the Ranger realized, _Had not Greenleaf chosen to attempt to escape the pit just then, rather than trying later, then he would not have arrived at the river at dawn. He would not have seen me trying to cross and I might have drowned in the Bruinen this morning._

He thought to tell Legolas this but decided not to spoil the Elf’s strange good mood. Since he’d begged the Prince’s forgiveness and stopped acting like an ass, the laegel’s temperament seemed lighter. There had been a few moments during his telling of his story that the Elf had acted strangely – such as when he’d pulled away from the human when Estel displayed his irritation – but overall, the Prince did not seem to be suffering from a stifling grief that might claim his faer at any moment. The night before leaving the valley, the Prince had been in a similarly strange good mood, although the Ranger had realized since then that Legolas had been deflecting suspicion from his plans to flee Imladris.

 _We should leave. Now perhaps I can convince him to come to the valley with me,_ he hoped. Even after admitting he was wrong to doubt whether Legolas could take care of himself, the Ranger was not going to stop trying to keep the Elf safe.

His thoughts congruent to the Adan’s thoughts, Legolas pulled back out of the human’s embrace and stood. He yanked Estel to his feet. “Come. The sooner we are gone, the sooner you will be safe.”

The Ranger adjusted his broadsword about his waist and stretched his back and chest, careful not to pull at the aching, feverish wound upon his belly, while watching the Elf act similarly by stretching his arms before hefting his trousers up to his hips for the umpteenth time. Although the weather was hardly fair, it was summer and the temperature was warm. Legolas did not mind walking the woods half-clothed, but Aragorn minded. It was difficult and distracting to have before his eyes the constant reminder of the recent beating that the Elf had endured and the bite marks telling of the near ravaging he’d eluded; and so, Aragorn tugged his tunic over his head and then his undershirt, ere he pulled his tunic back on but not the undershirt.

“I would give you my cloak, but I had it wrapped around Kalin, where it probably has journeyed to the valley with him. But here,” he said, handing over his shirt to the Prince. “It is too big for you but perhaps it will keep the dirt from getting into the abrasions upon your arms.”

Legolas gave Estel a knowing frown, for the Elf could discern that this was not the reason for being offered the Ranger’s shirt. Legolas did not argue, however, and handed the man his bow and quiver to hold while he pulled the shirt on over his head. The shirt was loose upon Estel, so on the lean Wood-Elf it billowed out around him. When the Prince looked down at himself, he snickered a time or two in amusement, saying, “Either I have lost a stone or you have gained one.”

“I think you’ve lost two stone in the past few months,” the Ranger replied, trying to sound lighthearted but failing. The Elf had always been thin – as were most Elves – but now, the laegel’s skin seemed stretched tight over his skeleton, his muscles were visible since he lacked fat, and his cheeks were hollowed, as was the area around his collarbones and belly.

Not noticing the dismay with which the Ranger was looking upon his too thinned flesh, the Elf hitched his trousers up over his hips only to sigh as they immediately slid back down. “At this rate, I will need a whole new wardrobe since nothing will fit, anyway. All of my clothing in the valley is ruined with blood anyhow, my boots are at the bottom of a Troll pit, and I do not even have a nightshirt left to wear. These trousers, the shirt and tunic – all of them were borrowed. I will need to buy Ninan a new tunic to replace his best one, which I think Mithfindl used to fashion a torch.”

After hearing Legolas say that he would not live past killing Mithfindl and now hearing him speak of needing new clothes in the future and of buying Ninan a new tunic to replace the one Legolas had ruined, the Ranger told himself, _If he speaks of having new clothes to be made and making plans to recompense Ninan, then perhaps his earlier promise was more of a warning that he may die, and not truly his intentions._ Aragorn knew that he might be grasping for any sliver of proffered hope. He could not help himself. The Ranger had run the full gamut of emotions this morning, he was exhausted, sick, hungry, and after hearing Legolas’ explanation as to where he’d been since leaving Kalin, the human was even more determined to get the Elf close to the valley. If they could just get near enough to encounter Glorfindel or the twins on their way to meet them, then the Ranger felt certain that together they could keep each other safe while still finding Mithfindl.

“Here, wait,” he told the Prince. The human fiddled with the tie to his tunic, pulling the cloth strip out of the holes through which it was threaded. He then knelt down before the Elf. With a lover’s familiarity, the Ranger began threading the string through the holes in the front of the Wood-Elf’s trousers, where the leather tie laid in pieces. He even tied the string into a square knot, just as the Elf usually did.

This done, the human remained kneeling before the Silvan for a moment longer. Estel gazed up at Legolas, his heart filling with adoration and fear. The Prince was not looking down to him, but out at the woods around them for danger. Although the Silvan had told him that Mithfindl had not defiled him again, although the Ranger knew that the insidious wounds made to the Elf’s body by Mithfindl’s lust days previous were now healed, and though Legolas showed no true fear of Estel, still the human wondered if the Prince would ever be himself again after what he had endured this time, especially after the Elf had several times backed away from him as if fearful that in Estel’s ire, the Adan might hurt him.

 _Months ago, when first I brought Greenleaf here after our being attacked in the woods, Ada told me that I ought to be grateful that Legolas was living, much less allowing my touch. Will it be easier for him to survive his grief after having endured it before or will the added burden of his sorrow only ensure his demise? He lives now to kill Mithfindl. What will happen after that is accomplished? If that is all he lives for, maybe it is best if Mithfindl is never found._ Upon noticing the human was done with his task but had not yet risen from the ground, Legolas finally turned his attention to the man. “Bruised, beaten, sopping wet, and smelling of Troll shit, you are still the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen, Greenleaf,” the Adan told his lover earnestly.

The focused, hard look upon Legolas’ face softened as he gazed down at Estel, until the Elf was giving the Adan the unabashed, peculiar smile that Estel would always think of as his alone. This smile turned into an outright laugh, which pleased the Ranger to no end, for this laugh was not self-deprecatory or mirthless, but of genuine amusement. Legolas held his hand out to the human to help him from the ground; before the Adan had the opportunity to take the Elf’s hand, Legolas changed his mind and dropped to his own knees, instead, so that they were both knelt and only a handbreadth apart.

“I think I have Troll filth and bone dust in my teeth,” the Silvan told him before asking, “but may I kiss you before we continue on?”

“Do not ask foolish questions,” the human replied as he leant forward to claim the Elf’s mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

Aragorn would always want most that the Prince would be well and safe, but of only slighter concern to him was his zealous need for the Elf to continue to love him and want his company with the same passion with which he loved the Elf and desired Legolas’ companionship. Months ago, under the large, ancient oak tree near to the training field in the valley, the human had made a promise to the Elf that he would wait forever for the Prince to be well so that they might resume their lovemaking, if ever Legolas wished to resume it at all. He promised then that he did not need physical affection but required Legolas’ friendship and presence – having the laegel’s body for pleasure was only a secondary benefit. For two months, the Ranger had patiently kept his hands to himself, while yearning for the Wood-Elf despite his best intentions to refrain from even thinking about the delectation they might derive from the intimacy they mutually withheld. Estel would have continued to wait forever, just as he’d promised. However, eventually Legolas had been the one to choose that he felt it right to recommence their physical pleasure, and so, when the two had joined their bodies again, the Adan had feared that their rush to revel in each other might invite the malingering presence and voice of the laegel’s grief – which had resided in the shattered flesh of the Elf’s thigh – to torment Legolas again.

About a week after their loving bout of play that first night after swimming in the river and after enjoying each other that whole week through, the Wood-Elf was defiled by Mithfindl in the most violent, brutal, and unimaginably vile way possible. Two days afterwards, Mithfindl despoilt the Prince again. More concerned that Legolas would survive his injuries and his grief, Estel’s thoughts turned only briefly to whether the Silvan would desire his touch, and even then, it was to worry that he would not even be able to hug or handle the Elf in a companionable manner. However, the night and morning before Legolas had fled the valley to hunt Mithfindl, the Wood-Elf had kissed the Ranger, allowed himself to be kissed by Aragorn, and slept in the same bed as the Adan. Just this amount of trust and physicality was beyond what Estel had expected.

And so now, his hands upon the Wood-Elf’s shoulders in a light touch, his chest barely pressed to the laegel’s chest, he hoped that he was not demanding any more than what Legolas desired or was willing to endure. To have the Silvan ask for a kiss, to want any intimacy or affection from the Adan, was more than the Ranger thought possible so soon after the laegel being ravaged by Mithfindl, nearly losing his mind – by the Silvan’s own account – while in the pit in the back of the cave, and after almost being despoilt by Mithfindl again. It was only a simple buss, yes, but to the anxious human, it was yet another reason to be buoyant.

 _Please do not let this be too soon for him,_ the Ranger worried, though his anxiety soon evaporated in favor of enjoying the simple pleasure of his lover’s lips upon his own.

He would rush nothing. He would ask for nothing more than what Legolas was willing to give him. When the Elf slid his hands along the human’s neck to entwine behind, to keep the human from pulling away too soon, Estel forgot all but Legolas. The Ranger’s lips lingered only delicately upon the laegel’s lips; although it seemed that the Prince wanted to remain as they were, Estel ended this featherlight buss before he could lose his resolve not to push the Elf for more, for in his optimism and love for the Prince he truly wanted to explore the Elf’s mouth thoroughly, to run his lissome lingua over the Silvan’s straight, white teeth and ambrosial tongue. Though the Wood-Elf said that he might have grit and Troll filth in his mouth, to Estel the Prince tasted just as sweet as ever.

Aragorn pulled back, a spry grin upon his face. For the moment, he even forgot all about Mithfindl and that they were likely being hunted by the Noldo at this very moment. Legolas was smiling, as well; the Elf’s eyes had gone the prurient, purplish blue that evinced that his desire was awakened. Aragorn added this detail to his list of things about which to be hopeful. But then, much to the Ranger’s disappointment, Legolas’ simpering smile became a moue of disapproval.

“Estel!” the Wood-Elf exclaimed in vexed crossness as he pulled his hands back from the Ranger’s neck, only to place a hand on either side of the human’s face, instead. “You are burning up!”

_I wondered how long it would take him to notice that I was feverish._

So similar did this sound that the Ranger mused about when last the Elf had said this to him. Upon a peak in the Misty Mountains, when crossing to take the Prince to his father’s halls to face Thranduil’s judgment, Aragorn had hid his illness so that his brothers and lover would not send him back to Imladris. Legolas had discovered his fever that night. It was the same night that the Elf had told the Adan that he loved him not despite his human frailness, but because of it, because he loved the Adan for who and what he was.

_That seems like years ago. So much has happened since then._

“Estel,” the Prince reproved when the human did not respond. Legolas’ own injuries and torment were forgotten in favor of assuring that the Ranger was well, instead. “Why did you not tell me that you are sick? Here we sit in the rain while you have a fever! We should leave straightaway for the valley. In fact, you should have stayed at the outpost, where you could at least have been dry and fed until someone could ride out to get you,” the Elf fretted.

“You are one to fuss, since you are covered in bruises and scrapes,” the human told his Elven lover, which made the Prince’s frown curl into a faint smile in appreciation of the humor of his scolding the human for being hurt when he was hurt, as well. “It is nothing. The wound upon my belly is fevered, but it is not too bad,” he tried to assure the Elf.

The mildly amused Wood-Elf’s smile crumpled and his face fell forward to learn the cause of Aragorn’s fever, but before Estel could try to assuage the Elf with more guarantees of his health, Legolas was standing with his hand out to the Ranger, saying, “Come then. We tarry here no longer. Neither Mithfindl nor fever will take you away from me,” the Prince murmured possessively.

He took the hand and the help in rising. The rift between the Elf and Ranger was smaller now than it had been before but not yet gone. Since the human had never felt such a divide between the Wood-Elf and him, he knew not how to bridge it just yet, but as he had anticipated, their arguing had opened old wounds afresh and made new injury – all of which was necessary for the cleft separating them to heal. To Estel, he thought of it much like when a bone began to mend wrong; the bone would need to be re-broken before it could be set to rights. In this way, he viewed his and Legolas’ love, for there was much that needed fixing.

Moreover, now that they both had rested, Estel felt better already. He was still exhausted and hungry, but his fever seemed less than it had the evening previous while taking Kalin to the border patrol outpost. _I wish I had my pack. Even venison jerky sounds appetizing right now._ The Ranger’s belly rumbled in hunger, though this pang of hunger was followed by a pang of actual pain. _I wish I had the pheasant that Camthalion gave to me to share with Greenleaf._ As he followed in behind Legolas, matching the Prince’s pace with his own long strides, the thought of Camthalion reminded the Adan, _The miruvor! I have forgotten all about it. I hope it was not lost in the river._

He stopped walking, which Legolas noticed right away. Luckily, the small skin had not been swept away along with the rest of the human’s belongings because he’d kept it on his person and not in the satchel. The Elf turned around to see what the Ranger was doing, for the human was trying to slip the tiny container out of the inner pocket of his tunic without pulling the cork free accidentally. Being that his clothes and hands were soaked with rain, he nearly failed when his fingers slipped on the waterskin and almost spilled the miruvor into his tunic’s pocket.

“Estel?” the Elf queried as he trod the muddy ground back to where the Ranger was standing. “What’s wrong?”

He had forgotten all about the cordial but was very glad to have remembered. “Nothing at all. In fact,” the human said as he pulled free the cork from the container, “I have something that will help us along our way.”

He passed the bladder to Legolas. Understandably, the laegel was hesitant to drink the liquid since he could not immediately tell what it was. But after smelling the bladder, the Prince smiled and took a swig before passing it back to Aragorn. The Ranger helped himself to a long draught, as well, feeling better for it before he had even corked the bladder again.

“You choose our path,” the laegel told him, wiping the remnants of the cordial from his lips. Legolas looked into the forest behind them, where all that could be heard or seen was the perpetual rainfall and occasional clap of distant thunder. Not even the wildlife or birds were out in this weather, it seemed. “I will keep watch from the rear.”

Estel nodded his head in agreement, for he knew that Legolas would likely hear anyone coming long before him – if the oncomer could be heard at all. As he slid the bladder back into his tunic’s inner pocket, the Ranger tried to focus his mind upon the task at hand. He usually slept like a child in Imladris, but in the wilds, he was accustomed to going for days without gainful rest. Although he ate hearty in the valley, in the forest he was habituated to eating what he could scavenge from the woods. So, being both tired and hungry right now were not uncommon for Estel at all. However, this was the first time in his relatively short life that the Adan had ever been hunted by an Elf, making his deprivation and fatigue detrimental to his survival. Goblins, Trolls, mercenaries, and soldiers from opposing armies were typically no match for Aragorn while in the woods, for it was his natural habitat, of sorts, and he could be lost amongst the bushes and shadows much like a Wood-Elf could hide herself in the treetops. But right now, neither he nor Legolas had the advantage. The laegel knew these woods well, truly, as did Estel, but it was Mithfindl’s occupation as one of the border patrol to roam the areas around Imladris, so Mithfindl knew them better than did they. While the Ranger could distinguish danger long before most humans, Legolas could perceive it long before he could – and yet, Mithfindl was an Elf. He could walk quietly, leave little to no signs of his path, and he could climb through the trees – though not as well as could Legolas, of course.

 _Our best bet is to make good time along the river path. If we can reach Glorfindel or the twins or whoever comes for us, surely Mithfindl will not try to attack a whole contingent of his own kind._ The Ranger pushed aside the thought that the Noldo would not need to fight his own kind. Legolas had told the Adan that Mithfindl desired only the Ranger’s death and did not care to die in the undertaking. The Noldo might attack them even surrounded by Imladrian patrol, if he thought he could kill Aragorn, for he would not care what happened after so long as the human perished.

From behind him came the distinguishable sounds of retching. Estel stopped walking and turned back in time to see Legolas leaning over, one hand upon a tree trunk to keep him from toppling forwards, and vomiting up the cordial he’d been given.

"I am fine," the Prince replied without even considering what he said.

Legolas waved off the human before he reached the Elf, but that did not stop the Ranger. Immediately, Aragorn went to the Elf, placed a soothing hand upon Legolas’ back, and with his other hand pulled the Silvan’s hair away from his face so that he would not get it filthier than it was already. Miruvor was one of the most potent but most benign blends of tinctures that the Ranger knew of, such that he had never heard of it making anyone ill or causing any unintended effects, which now made him ponder, _If Greenleaf cannot even keep the miruvor down, he may not make it back to Imladris, lest in their haste, Glorfindel and the others ride like Morgoth was on their coattails._ He prayed that they did.

“I am fine,” Legolas said again, even as his belly restarted its heaving. He had already brought up all that was within it, however. The powerful efforts of his belly’s revolt made the laegel tremble.

The Elf was not fine. Aragorn could not argue, though. They did not have the time or the supplies for him to do anything to aid Legolas. All that might aid them both was to continue along their way.

“Come,” he told his Elven lover once the laegel stood upright, while slipping his arm through the Silvan Prince’s arm as if they were lovers walking through a garden.

Surreptitiously, Estel hoped to offer the laegel some assistance in walking, for the malnourished and battered Wood-Elf was staggering. Although Legolas wanted to continue as much as did Estel, it still hurt the Ranger to have to make the Elf walk on when he clearly did not have the vitality for it. Legolas’ face was pale already, but right now, his face had gone the color of the grey, frothy mist at the bottom of the Bruinen’s falls, which made the dark circles under his eyes and the black and blue contusions upon his forehead and cheeks stand out.

After almost an hour of walking this way, the Prince’s gait began to decline even more. He pulled his arm free of Estel’s and managed only, “Wait,” before he fell to his knees and started dry heaving yet again. Aragorn started to drop to his own knees to kneel beside the Elf but Legolas urged him between coughing, gagging gulps of air, “Keep watch.”

And so he did just that. There was nothing moving about the woods. By the Ranger’s thinking, if Gwindor had made good time and crossed the Ford without trouble, then since Gwindor was on horseback, he would have already made it to the valley. Whoever rode out to meet them would leave immediately, the human was certain, and also be horsed. Their own walk along the river path was slow going, but if they kept at it, then they lessened the amount of time between now and their being found. They reduced that time by mere hours, perhaps, but hours could make the difference between Mithfindl finding them, the Prince’s body giving out or his faer succumbing to the grief he currently held at bay, or the Ranger’s fever worsening to a dangerous level.

His mind on their journey, Aragorn absently helped Legolas to stand and then used his sleeve to wipe the Wood-Elf’s face when he noted that Legolas’ chin was spattered with spittle. When done, though, he saw a tinge of red upon the cloth of his tunic. _He has either coughed or retched up blood,_ the Ranger noticed, his mind now fully upon the Prince rather than the future. _Mayhap he has some serious injury – a broken rib, perhaps – that I have not caught._ Legolas appeared unaware of having coughed or retched up blood; he only stood there, his breath coming in short, shallow, and apparently painful wheezes.

“Greenleaf, can you go on?” he asked. He wasn’t sure what they would do if the Elf could not. They could try to hole up somewhere or hide in the treetops. They had no hope of making it across the river to go to the outpost; the next nearby outpost to where they were currently was out of the path upon which Glorfindel would be expecting them. Their only other option would be to make a stand, as it were, and hope for the best. “Do you need to stop to rest?”

Legolas turned and spat out onto the grass. Though the Wood-Elf did not notice, the Ranger noted the rubicund tinge to the laegel’s spittle, which evinced that the blood upon his tunic’s sleeve was no anomaly. The Silvan was bleeding somewhere internally. The Prince shambled forward and pushed past Estel with renewed vigor, for the Prince would not consider risking Aragorn’s life just to ease his own suffering. “We do not stop. Not until we are found or you are in the valley.”

As the Elf walked, the Ranger had to snigger. In fact, had the situation not been so dire, the Ranger might have teased the laegel about his appearance. _He is as bedraggled and dirty as I have ever seen him, except for the time Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and I had a mud fight when I was a child. But despite being filthy, he could be mistaken for nothing less than a Prince._

“Do I look that strange?” the laegel asked when he heard Estel laugh and saw that the Adan stared at him. He didn't know how to respond. He didn’t want to poke fun of Legolas, who was not vain but loved cleanliness more than most Elves. His hesitation showed his caution and discomfort to the Wood-Elf, who helpfully answered his own question with a wistful smile, “One would think after nearly drowning in the river that I wouldn’t be as filthy as I am.”

The Prince guessed exactly why the human thought him odd looking. Aragorn began walking once more, taking Legolas’ arm in hand again. “I laugh only because I have rarely seen you this grimy, Greenleaf. Even still, I was just thinking that somehow you still look princelier than when dressed in your finery and wearing that awful mithril crown your father had made for you.”

To Estel’s delight and relief, Legolas snickered quietly. With nostalgia, the Elf reminded the Ranger, "Always one of us is walking into your father's home injured, half clothed, and filthy. Do you remember returning from the summer I took you into the woods for the first time, when we went back to the House with you on makeshift crutches and bandaged from head to toe?"

At this the Ranger returned the laegel's reminiscence with a chuckle, saying, "I remember Ada coming to the courtyard in a fit of rage, followed by his even more frightening wrath after to find it was a joke. I also remember wishing the twins had been there to see what prank we'd pulled without them." He laughed again, stepping over some small brush and slowing to make certain that the usually nimble Elf had no trouble in doing so, also. 

Speaking aloud his wishes while forgetting that the Prince had said he was not returning to the house, the Ranger mused, “This time, rage will not be my father’s reaction when you walk into the courtyard half naked and injured, I think.”

The Elf tilted his head to one side, reminding the human, "I am not going to Imladris with you, Estel." It was the Ranger's turn to show his confusion, and he stopped midstride, turning around fully to begin arguing, but the Prince cut him off, explaining while he pulled his arm free of Aragorn’s hold and taking a few steps away from him, "I told you, I cannot go back to the valley yet. I will go with you as far as the pass, but then I am turning back to find Mithfindl.”

"You do not understand," the human told him, smiling in mollification as if just realizing he'd forgotten to tell the Elf an important bit of information that would solve all their woes. "I have looked for you for days, Greenleaf. You cannot just walk away from me now."

"I must do what needs to be done," the Elf assured softly.

As the Ranger watched, the Silvan grew utterly still, as he often did when angered, which is what the human thought his lover to be. The Wood-Elf’s face became rigid and he stared off into the distance, his mind seemingly elsewhere, and his head still tilted to the side as if he were listening to something. The Wood-Elf had told the Ranger that the scar was gone, but at that moment, the Elf looked very much as he did when heeding the maleficent voice. Aragorn considered that Legolas’ suddenly strange behavior might be due to remnants of the poppy milk that Legolas said had caused him to hallucinate in the pit in the cave or the ongoing trauma of his injured body and beleaguered faer. When the human took a step towards the Elf, Legolas instinctively took a step back and held his injured hand out as though to warn the human away, while with his other hand he slid the bow from off his shoulder. Still, Legolas did not look directly at the Adan.

 _The scar is surely speaking to him. Maybe the poppy milk has mixed with the miruvor and caused him some confusion. Or perhaps he is hallucinating again,_ the Ranger worried. Since Legolas had admitted earlier that he had not been sure if Estel was real or a figment of his imagination, since he had claimed that it could be that he was still trapped in the pit and all this a fictive consolation from his grieving faer, Aragorn was afraid that the Prince might have fallen into some sort of hallucination and might cause himself or Estel harm.

Indeed, Legolas was not looking at the Ranger at all but seemingly caught in some remembrance or seeing something that was not there, for he looked through the human as if he could see the gloomy forest beyond. The Ranger's bow, held tight in the Prince’s uninjured hand, rose slowly, while his injured hand flew to grab an arrow from the quiver he had upon his back.

“Do not move, Estel,” the Prince warned in a whisper, the promise of bloodshed evinced by the iced firmness of his quiet voice. “Stay right where you are.”

He could not tell if the laegel’s words were a warning or a request. He should have realized that the laegel was not threatening him, but the Ranger did not consider this, for he thought the Elf had not given any sign that he saw anyone else before him save for Estel. Legolas faced the Ranger with his eyes seemingly upon the human, which was why the human feared that the Prince was delusional. Aragorn determined, _He is deluded. Who does he think that I am? Does he think I will attack him?_

“Greenleaf,” he called out in hopes of allaying the Elf’s worries.

But in a blurred flash of motion, the Silvan had his arrow notched and apparently aimed at the Ranger’s left shoulder, as if he intended to strike the man in the heart. In that split second, Estel acted out of instinct just before the adept Wood-Elf's borrowed arrow could fly – Legolas was an excellent archer, he had seen the Prince's murderous capabilities on many occasions, and Aragorn had only that single second to react before he was maimed or possibly killed. He threw himself forward, towards the Elf's knees, hoping that he could bring the Wood-Elf down before the terrorized, haunted, and confused laegel could kill him.

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 _Estel,_ the Elf thought in wonder as the Ranger dived at him. Legolas had asked the human to be still because he had hoped that his preparing his bow and arrow would not been seen by Mithfindl prior to his letting his arrow fly, for the Noldo had been sprinting behind them, his eyes upon the ground where he no doubt was tracking the Ranger’s footprints to follow them, having not yet noticed the Prince and human. However, the Adan’s sudden movement and shout of the laegel’s name not only drew Mithfindl’s attention to the Elf and Ranger, it also allowed the Noldo to learn that he was seen and that Legolas had his bow aimed to kill him.

The Prince released his arrow just as the human’s shoulder hit his shins. As he fell backwards, the laegel watched in dismay as Mithfindl’s arrow sped through the air towards them, for the Noldo had been walking with one at ready upon his stolen bow. So quickly did all this happen that the Wood-Elf did not even feel the Noldo’s arrow hit him. Instead, upon his back on the ground now, Legolas saw that the alteration of his own arrow’s trajectory had made it fly harmlessly up into the air, where it had hit a limb in the upper branches of a nearby tree.

 _What are you doing?_ he thought to the Ranger, who had just ruined what might have been the laegel’s only shot to take down Mithfindl before the Noldo shot the human, instead.

The Ranger was struggling to grab hold of the Prince’s arms, as though to keep him from firing off another shot. Confused as to what the human was doing, lest he was trying to obtain the bow and arrow to let fly his own shot, Legolas did not fight back so that Aragorn might succeed where the Wood-Elf had failed. A shrill and strange pain was growing in his chest. So much like the agony of grief did it feel that the laegel thought only that his failure to hit his target and his fear for Aragorn’s life were worsening his latent sorrow. But when he saw that the horrified Ranger was staring at his torso, Legolas looked down to find that the wooden shaft of an arrow was sticking out from his chest, just under his left breast.

 _That is my arrow,_ he thought dazedly, recognizing the fletching.

“Estel.” Instead of standing to fight or making use of the bow that he’d wrenched from the Elf’s hands, the Ranger was hovering over the Prince, his hands holding the laegel down by his upper arms, while he only stared in confusion at the laegel’s chest. “Mithfindl…” he began, hoping to call attention to the dangerous Noldo coming towards them.

It was then that a stunned look of understanding came over the Ranger’s face. Aragorn turned to look behind him, where Mithfindl stood with another arrow notched upon his bow, which he had aimed at the human’s heart.


	14. Chapter 14

To the Wood-Elf, it seemed an eternity that the three remained as they were, with the Ranger crouched beside the prone Prince and the Noldo standing close by, hovering over them with Legolas’ bow in his hands, another arrow at ready to fell Estel should he resist in any way. This was not the first time that the Prince had been wounded by an arrow; it was not even the first time that he had been shot in the chest with an arrow. It was, however, the only time he’d been shot by one of his own arrows. He could breathe easily enough, or at least as easily as he had before becoming Mithfindl’s target, and so thought that the projectile was not lodged in his lung. Blood seeped out of the wound upon his torso and through the cloth of his borrowed shirt, while his body began to feel distant to him. The Wood-Elf was becoming numb from shock. He could feel the Adan’s hand where it held his forearm in a vise-like grip that only tightened when Mithfindl began to laugh – it was one of the few things that Legolas could feel.

 _I cannot die yet. I cannot die and leave Aragorn to Mithfindl’s torture._ And if given the chance, the Noldo would maim, mistreat, and abuse the human, Legolas was certain of it. Seeing the glee upon the Noldo’s face to have Estel at his mercy, the laegel felt his waning strength begin to renew from his determination to remain sentient and of aid to the Adan. _I will see this through to the end. I will feel his blood upon my hands or at least find some way to give Estel the chance to escape._

“Finally,” Mithfindl sighed in a near mewl of pleasure. “Finally, my luck has turned.”

The laegel did not see the use in pleading or arguing with Mithfindl. He knew that the Noldo could not be reasoned with and understood that he might be forced to witness as Mithfindl burst Estel’s heart with one of the Prince’s arrows. He felt no fear for himself. He was dying, he was sure of it. Prolonging the Adan’s life was all the comfort he sought in his last moments on Arda.

“Have you nothing to say?” the Noldo taunted.

Mithfindl stayed just far enough back to be out of Estel’s reach. The Ranger had his broadsword strapped about his waist, the Adan’s bow was close by, but the only arrow at hand was in Legolas’ chest, since the Prince had fallen backwards onto the human’s quiver that he wore strapped about him. Aragorn was not as quick as Mithfindl; he could not attack the Noldo without first being the object of Mithfindl’s deadly aim. With another snigger of miscreant delight, Mithfindl then broke out in raucous laughter that twisted into a groan as his maniacal cachinnations pulled at the wound that Legolas had made to his upper chest during their struggle in the cave. This did not diminish the Noldo’s amusement, however.

He ordered Estel, “Slowly, now. So very slowly, I want you to remove your belt and crawl away from the whore. Leave your broadsword in its sheath and leave your sheath and belt right here.”

Aragorn did not move at first. Legolas could not see Estel’s face but he knew that the Ranger was weighing their options and the potential outcome of each. He could not speak his desire aloud, but the laegel wished with all his being that the Ranger would realize that he ought not to give in out of some hope that he might be able to talk Mithfindl into sparing Legolas’ life. In guilty frustration, the Wood-Elf watched as his lover began to unbuckle his belt to do as he was bid. _No, Estel, please,_ he craved to tell the human. At this point, the Silvan felt that his own life was at its end. His body was failing and he was certain that it would not be long before he found himself in the Halls of Awaiting – there was no point in Estel trying to save the laegel from torment or death when Legolas was already on the cusp of perishing. Aragorn’s life could be protected, however, and he would not endure the Ranger to suffer any torment from Mithfindl, certainly not because Estel endeavored in vain to keep Legolas safe.

“If you wish to kill me, have done with it,” the human demanded quietly, sliding his belt free and then walking upon his knees away from Legolas, much to the Wood-Elf’s horror, for his nightmare in having Estel as Mithfindl’s captive was becoming reality, particularly since the Ranger seemed to be willing to do as the Noldo asked.

“There’s no need to rush, is there, human?” the Noldorin Elf teased, his voice lighthearted and elated. When Estel paused, still within arm’s reach of Legolas, Mithfindl’s beaten face became exacting and despicable. He told the Ranger, “Farther back. Sit against that tree. Do as you’re told or I’ll put one through his eye this time,” he warned, shifting his bow and arrow to aim at Legolas’ face.

Legolas thought that if only he had a dagger, he could try to distract the Noldo by engaging him, since Mithfindl held his arrow upon the Prince rather the Ranger at the moment. With the Wood-Elf’s life in danger, all fight seemed to leave the Ranger, which was evinced by his saying, “I will do whatever you ask. Just do not hurt him further.”

The Noldo did not respond. He moved closer to Legolas until he was towering over the Prince, who lay immobile upon the muddy ground. Overhead, the limbs of the trees in this part of the woods were not quite as old and therefore not as thick, such that the laegel could see the cloud darkened sky through them. Rain pattered against his face. The Elf found himself wishing that he could die in the sunlight rather than in this somber and unrelenting storm.

“Don’t worry. I intend to keep the whore alive for now.” Mithfindl peered down at Legolas, who could do nothing but look back up at his debaucher, rapist, and soon to be killer. “You got out of that hole. Good for you. I went back to help you out, to get my fill of you while we waited for your foul human to show up, but you were gone,” Mithfindl told the Prince with his half-mad grin. “No matter. Now that the human is here, we can put on a show for him, can’t we? Like the merchants did?”

“Do not touch him,” the Ranger warned, as if he were in any state to be making threats. With his bow at ready, Mithfindl could kill one of them immediately and whoever lived would have to fight the Noldo. A couple of days ago, Mithfindl had shown Legolas that he was the stronger of the two – in dire condition now, the Prince had no chance of besting the Noldo and Estel was easily outmatched by the Noldorin Elf. But still, the Adan threatened Mithfindl, saying, “Surely Faelthîr learnt from Kalin what happened to the human merchants, what revenge I exacted upon them for harming Greenleaf, and told you of it? Perhaps she told you what happened to their leader in Thranduil’s halls?”

Though the smile slipped from Mithfindl’s face, he was no more daunted than before. In fact, in retribution for the human daring to try to intimidate him, the Noldo unexpectedly stepped within reach of Legolas, pulled back his booted foot, aimed just so, and kicked the Prince’s temple with all his might. Just as suddenly, the Wood-Elf was immersed in the obscurity of unconsciousness.

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 _Idiot,_ he called himself for the umpteenth time this day, his chest heaving at the sight of his lover being treated so callously. Legolas’ fair head lolled to the side with his closed eyes facing the Ranger. In a strange way, though, the human considered that the Wood-Elf’s oblivion might be a boon, for his Greenleaf would not be aware of what was happening – this would be especially beneficial if the Noldo decided to make good on his idea of ravaging the Silvan again. Yet, Estel imagined that Mithfindl would not want to torture Legolas if he was not aware to feel it, so the Ranger considered, _At least he may be spared being defiled. At least he will not have to watch me die or watch Mithfindl torture me, instead. Maybe his being unconscious will buy us some time._

“You should keep your mouth shut, _Estel_ ,” the Noldo told him, saying his name as if he were speaking of horseshit upon his boot.

Aragorn was satisfied to see that Mithfindl had not gone unscathed during his tussle with Legolas days previous. The Noldo sported several dark and painful bruises upon his face and a bloodied lump of cloth was wrapped tight to his chest by nothing less than remnants of Legolas’ tunic. Most grievous of these wounds, however, was Mithfindl’s nose. As he surveyed the damage, the Ranger thought, _Not even Ada could ever set that bone to rights. Greenleaf pulverized it,_ he decided with dark humored hilarity. Indeed, Mithfindl’s nose was nothing but a dusky and bloody lump, the bone in the middle flattened to his face, while the bulbous end sat askew.

“You stupid whore,” the Noldorin warrior was saying to Legolas with what almost sounded to Estel to be fondness. Since the Wood-Elf was currently unconscious, he obviously could not hear it. With a villainous chuckle, Mithfindl retrained his notched arrow upon the Ranger and said, “I told him that you would be in the woods searching for him. Once I saw he was missing from the cave, I knew I’d need only to follow him to find you.”

The Adan was not planning to sit idly by while Mithfindl brutalized the Wood-Elf. As Mithfindl just mentioned, Estel had been forced to watch the human merchants as they played with the Prince, bringing Legolas' faer to the point of breaking with sadistic actions similar to those perpetrated by Mithfindl against the Prince already – Aragorn would die before he let that happen again. He had not been able to keep Legolas from being defiled by Sven and Cort in the woods. He had not been able to keep the Wood-Elf from being harmed by Kane in Thranduil’s halls. He had not been able to protect Legolas from Mithfindl while the laegel had been under the sway of the periapt. Aragorn was entirely unwilling to let the Noldorin warrior breathe for any longer than it took for him to distract Mithfindl away from Legolas, no matter the cost to himself. If somehow Legolas died during the attempt, then the Ranger would count it as a better result than the Prince being ravaged again.

Mithfindl used the tip of his foot, as if the Prince were some dirty thing he didn't want to sully himself with, and pushed Legolas from his back onto his side, and then onto his stomach. Aragorn nearly forgot his situation and leapt to his feet when he saw what the Noldo was doing, for as he watched, the arrow that was stuck in the laegel’s chest shifted before breaking off – and yet, rather than penetrating further into the Elf’s body, it pulled free. Of the length of the wooden shaft, only the arrow’s head and the width of three of his fingers was covered in blood, meaning that the projectile had not wedged deeply inside the Prince’s chest.

 _It was stopped by his ribcage,_ the healer in the Ranger noted, which brought him new optimism. Cautiously, he sat back upon his heels, glad that Mithfindl had not slaughtered him for his slight transgression of moving when told not to do so. He determined that if the arrow had not managed to strike hard enough or at the right angle to pass between the Elf’s ribs, then the wound might not be as ominous as it looked. Kalin had been granted a similar providence when he was skewered upon the stake at the bottom of the Troll-pit; the stick had slid along his ribs and avoided puncturing any vital organs. If the arrow had not pierced between Legolas’ ribs, then the laegel might not be beyond help – at least, he might be helped if the human could somehow find a way to staunch the flow of blood that already had soaked through the Adan’s shirt that the Silvan wore.

“I do not understand why you did not shoot me, instead, since you want me dead and Legolas alive for your perversion," the Ranger cautioned, wanting more than anything to get to the Prince. His fingers fastened and opened in the rain-dampened cloth of his trousers; his hands were eager to do the work of healing that he knew the Elf needed straightaway if he was to have a chance to live. Feeling sick at his own choice of words but saying them to try to convince Mithfindl to let him save the Silvan’s life, the human told the Noldo, “You don’t want to lose your pet, do you? Let me stop his bleeding. If you do not let me see to him, he will die.”

Mithfindl laughed ruthlessly, rapping the insensible Prince's head with his foot. "I was aiming for you, not him. Did you think I was trying to kill him? You’re right. I don’t want to lose the chance to put the whore to good use a final time," the warrior corrected the human, finding it entertaining beyond his ability to control his laughter, as he explained in mock cheer, "The whore is a faster archer; he spotted me before I spotted the two of you. He would have let loose his arrow before mine, felling me, more than likely, had you not tackled him." Hitting harder the Wood-Elf's skull with his foot, the Noldo then callously trod the Prince's blond tresses into the leaves and mud underfoot as he circled the laegel, visibly checking the Silvan’s body for hidden weapons. "Did you think that he aimed for you? Or maybe you were just so eager to watch me violate him that you saved my life?"

Aragorn tried not to show how confounded he felt now that his misjudgment was brought to light, for thus far, he’d been too intent on keeping the Prince and him alive to think of what had just occurred. He did a poor job of hiding his horror, though, and Mithfindl giggled manically at the man. His head dropping as his heart fell in shame, the Ranger suddenly understood why Legolas had asked him not to move – so that Mithfindl would not be warned of their presence. Not only had he moved, he had shouted the Prince’s name, giving Mithfindl the warning he needed to let fly his arrow. The Ranger shook his head in disbelief. _It is true. I jumped from the way of the arrow intended for me, only for Legolas to take it instead. Had I not vaulted towards Greenleaf, thinking that Legolas was hallucinating, that he intended to kill me, and that I could take Greenleaf down before he let his arrow fly, then Legolas would have killed Mithfindl before Mithfindl even knew we were here._

But now Legolas was lying unmoving and growing ever more ashen, as the flower of crimson blood around the arrow propagated. _I have done this. I did not trust him. I thought him mad. Greenleaf will die because I am a fool._

Mithfindl was watching the Adan, his enjoyment only growing at the Ranger’s ostensible dismay to learn of what he had done. The Noldo snickered in a loud bray that sprayed blood from his ruined nose. “I was only jesting, but it turns out that you truly did think that he aimed for you.” The Noldo slowly lowered himself to the ground, Legolas’ bow in his hands and still drawn, the arrow upon the string aimed at the Prince for the moment, as though to keep Estel compliant when he wondered to the Ranger, “When he wakes up, we’ll have to ask him how he feels about it, although he might not be able to say much with my cock in his mouth.”

Estel ignored his instruction to remain still and moved into a crouch. "Do not hurt him," he pled, not caring if he begged the Noldorin warrior. More than before, the guilt ridden Ranger was compelled to do anything required or possible to save Legolas from being despoilt again. “I am the one you seek revenge against. Leave him be. Kill him if you will, but torment him no further. If you wish to torture someone, then take your anger out upon me.”

"Don't worry," the warrior assured with a patronizing smile. “I have vigor enough to torment you both.” Again, Mithfindl tittered, his laughter sounding off to Aragorn, as if the warrior's amusement was gradually becoming frenzied. Mithfindl looked down at the Prince, tapping the Elf's shoulder with his foot, nudging increasingly harder, until he was fully kicking the laegel as he hissed, "Wake, whore. Let’s not waste time.”

When the Elf did not rouse, Mithfindl struck the Silvan in the newly made wound upon his chest, which again caused the Ranger to lurch forward instinctively to stop the Noldo, though at Mithfindl’s glare, he settled back onto his heels unwillingly. Legolas’ breath hitched when the Noldo kicked where the arrow had been stuck in his flesh but he did not waken. In a hasty motion that took the Adan by surprise, Mithfindl threw away the bow he had stolen from Legolas, tossing it and the arrow to the side; Aragorn once more nearly leapt to his feet to tackle the unarmed Noldo, but before the Ranger could make use of the Noldo’s lack of weapon, Mithfindl yanked free from its sheath the laegel’s long knife, which he then laid across the Prince’s already wounded neck in obvious threat. At seeing how the Ranger had nearly used the opportunity to try to attack him, Mithfindl smiled spitefully. He playfully slid the Wood-Elf’s blade over the bruises on the Silvan’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood as the highly sharp long knife easily parted the Wood-Elf’s pale skin.

The Noldorin warrior looked between Estel and Legolas, as if deciding what he should do next. “As much as I long to gut you, I don’t know if I can pass up the chance to play with your whore, given that you are here to watch it. I know how much you would relish that. You enjoyed watching your fellow humans fuck him in the woods so much that you barely waited long enough for him to heal before you fucked him yourself.”

The human’s chest was heaving for air while sweat poured from his skin, only part of which came from the fever that heated his flesh. He would not watch Mithfindl rape the Wood-Elf. Already, the Ranger had been forced to watch others abuse the Elf for their sick and perverted pleasure. The mere thought of the Noldo doing so to Legolas was cause enough for Aragorn to forgo all aims for his survival. Moreover, the Ranger knew Legolas better than he had before – better than he had ever known the Elf, in fact. The Prince had offered up his body, shattered his faer, and thereby ruined his mind with grief when he had let Sven and Cort defile him in order to save the Ranger. Aragorn would not let that happen again, not to save his own life and not to save the Wood-Elf’s life. He would rather Mithfindl kill Legolas than to allow the Prince to suffer through the same another time, for he now knew that the laegel would rather die than endure such lustful excruciation when only his own life hung in the balance. Legolas would rather Estel be free and fight than submit to try to save him. Of course, Estel felt the same, but they would both end up dead if he did not take a chance.

Aragorn gauged how quickly he could move to reach his sword, which lay on the ground almost halfway between him and Mithfindl, close to Legolas’ hip. The wound on his belly was emitting fierce pulses of agony but as long as it did not cause him to falter, the Ranger thought he could spring forward, grab his broadsword, and strike out at Mithfindl before he killed Legolas. He prayed that surprising the Noldo with this action might garner all of Mithfindl’s attention, but if the Noldo succeeded in killing Legolas first, as he had promised to do if the Ranger moved, then Estel would have a few moments more to be certain that he was prepared. Mithfindl needed to die. The Noldo’s death was the cause for Legolas being in the forest in the first place; it was the impulse behind the Wood-Elf’s having lived far beyond when his faer should have relinquished its hold upon Legolas’ rhaw. To achieve this for his Greenleaf was the most for which he could hope.

His voice low and soft, Mithfindl was asking of the preoccupied Ranger, who was diverted in planning his attempt to fell the Noldorin Elf, “Tell me what it felt like to watch the two merchants in the woods riding your whore like the animal he is. When she had him drugged on poppy milk in her bed, Faelthîr made Kalin tell her all about how the little Princeling moaned for your human friends, how he begged them to take him.”

Mithfindl bandied about the word whore, calling Legolas by that vile epithet repeatedly, as if it were the Wood-Elf’s given name. The Ranger knew that Mithfindl was trying to get under his skin, to rile the human with his judgment upon the Prince’s character. It was working. Aragorn had the sudden, stupid urge to charge at the Noldo, especially when Mithfindl reached out for the Wood-Elf’s body. Without care for the Woodland Prince’s wounds, the Noldo flipped the Silvan fully onto his back. Again, the Wood-Elf grunted but did not awaken. Using the Prince’s own long knife, Mithfindl slid the blade down the middle of the laegel’s body until he arrived at the front of Legolas’ trousers, where only a short while earlier Aragorn had used his tunic’s string to lace together the Elf’s trousers to keep them from falling from the Prince’s wiry hips. Not looking at what he was doing but at Estel, whose body was thrumming in barely restrained rage, Mithfindl slid the blade under the makeshift laces, cutting them loose with a laugh.

It was as if he wanted Estel to lose his temper and come at him, although it would ruin his plans of defiling Legolas while the human watched. Mithfindl would have to find some way to subdue Aragorn other than a knife, that much was certain, and the Adan figured that the Noldo realized this. _Perhaps he is just taunting me until Legolas wakens. Either he will have Greenleaf tie me or he just wants Legolas awake so that one of us will have to watch the other die._ Aragorn did not want to die but nor did he fear it; he feared dying before Legolas, which would leave the Prince in Mithfindl’s hands to bear the brunt of the Noldo’s perverted hatred.

The Noldo was clearly enjoying himself. Bulging out from the front of his trousers was the evidence of Mithfindl’s arousal. With the Wood-Elf’s trousers now loosened, Mithfindl paused only long enough to run his palm over the front of his own trousers, groaning as he stimulated himself. His voice now husky with desire, the Noldo went on, saying, “Tell me how you felt when your disgusting whore told you about being tied over the barrel while the merchants took their turns breaking him in. Did he tell you about the wine bottle? I would have liked to have heard his screams that day.”

He was trying his best to keep his disgust and his anger from showing since this was the reaction that Mithfindl wanted from him, but Estel warned the Noldo, “If you touch him, I swear I will relieve you of your hand… and that will just be the beginning.”

Chuckling without care, the Noldorin warrior once more flipped the unconscious Wood-Elf onto his belly, the long knife ever upon the Prince’s neck. As he rotated the laegel, Mithfindl drew another bloody line on the contused skin of the Silvan’s throat. In a salaciously slow manner and paying no heed to the Ranger’s attempt to bully him, Mithfindl slid his free hand under the waist of the Wood-Elf’s trousers, his gaze steady upon Estel, for he wanted to see the human’s reaction to the show he intended to put on for the Ranger. “Did he tell you what I did to him? Or what you did to him, as he believed at the time? I never thought I would be able to take another against his will, but do you know what I did?” he asked the Ranger, answering the rhetorical question with, “I pretended my cock was a dagger. I pretended I was stabbing your filthy whore each time I shoved into him. And do you know what? To him, it must have felt just like being stabbed because he sniveled and quivered the whole time.”

Aragorn was coming very close to bounding to his feet. He found it hard to plan, to care if he lived or died, when Mithfindl had his loathsome hands upon Legolas.

“I impaled him again and again, until my shaft was covered in his blood,” he said as he slid his hand under the loose cloth, tugging at the waist of the Elf’s trousers, pulling them bit by bit down the laegel’s hips until he had exposed the Prince’s rear. Legolas did not react to this at all, much to Aragorn’s relief, since the only thing that was keeping him from acting imprudently was the knowledge that the Prince was not aware of what Mithfindl was saying or doing. “But he didn’t fight me, while thinking it was you. He didn’t want to hurt you… that, or you’ve trained your whore well,” the Noldo said with a malicious snicker. “I know you saw the end result of my handiwork but it doesn’t tell the story of how he begged, saying, ‘Please, Estel, stop,’ and asking, ‘Why do you do this?’ It was very exciting, watching him writhe and squirm under me, while his tight arse was pierced upon my shaft.”

 _Wait,_ he tried to advise himself. He wanted only for the Noldo to move the blade away from the Prince’s throat, and then he would enact his shoddy plan. If at all possible, he wanted Legolas to live, and so begged himself, _Just wait a moment more. Greenleaf is unconscious. He feels none of this,_ he reminded himself. _Wait and maybe I will have the chance to kill Mithfindl and still save Greenleaf._ Aragorn was on the verge of losing control. If he did not act soon, he would act without thinking.

“What do you think?” the Noldo asked. Mithfindl cupped the swell of one globe of Legolas’ rear, daring Aragorn, it seemed to the human, to make good on the warning he’d made not to touch the Elf. “The merchants in the woods speared him front and back like a rabbit on a spit. You take the front and I’ll take the back?” he taunted. One finger from Mithfindl’s hands lingered between the cleft of the laegel’s rear, before it slid between the two shapely globes. “After I get him ready, of course,” the Noldo said with a vindictive grin, his finger squirming towards the hidden opening to the Prince’s clandestine flesh.

It was too much for the human to withstand. Hauling himself to his feet, Aragorn reached for his broadsword. He would remove the Noldo’s offending hand, and then, just like he had Kane, he would cut free the Noldo’s shaft – the part of Mithfindl that had hurt his Wood-Elf the most. At once, Mithfindl was standing, and while the Ranger was glad that Mithfindl had removed his offending hands from Legolas’ body, and also that the Noldo did not kill Legolas as he had threatened but came straight for the Ranger, now that the warrior was focused upon him, instead, the Adan realized that he had no true strategy as to what to do. He barely had the hilt of his sword in his fingers when with a grin of anticipation, Mithfindl was upon him.

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Somehow, even through the Noldo running the long knife over the Wood-Elf’s throat and the hideous taunts and unwelcome fondling, Legolas had remained perfectly still. Unbeknownst to Estel and Mithfindl, the Prince had awoken when first the Noldo had shifted him, when the arrow had ripped free from his chest. From that point on, the laegel had been biding his time in hopes of having the opportunity to attack Mithfindl. He was unarmed, injured, on the ground, and if the Noldo learnt that the Silvan was awake, he might try to begin his demonstration – either killing Legolas or Estel so that the other could watch, or raping Legolas to torment the hated Ranger with his inability to stop it.

Knowing that his only advantage was surprise, the Prince had done his best to remain passive and quiet. Surprise had not worked out well for him beside the pond days ago, when Mithfindl had overpowered him and nearly beat him to death, but the Elf reasoned now that if he could occupy the Noldo, even if it ended in his death, then perhaps he could distract Mithfindl long enough for Aragorn to kill the abhorrent Noldorin warrior. When Mithfindl had slipped his hand inside the waist of the Silvan’s trousers, the Elf had wanted to react. He heard every revolting thing that the Noldo said to Estel. He heard Mithfindl taunt the Ranger with his Elven lover’s degradation. When Mithfindl had slid his hand down the Wood-Elf’s rear, it had taken every bit of his self-control not to shiver in revulsion.

But then, while offering to share the Wood-Elf with the Ranger as had Cort and Sven, Mithfindl had tried to do more than grope the Prince. When Mithfindl’s finger slipped between the halves of his rear, he knew that he could postpone no longer. He would unwillingly end up giving away his sentience soon and he could not force Estel to watch his debasement – just making the human listen to Mithfindl’s mocking was cruel enough. However, before Legolas could act, the finger and hand were removed before finding their way inside his body, Mithfindl stood, and he kicked Legolas thoughtlessly in his haste to get to Estel. Without thinking, Legolas’ eyes flew open to see that the Noldo had the Prince’s long knife in hand to kill the Ranger with it, just as he’d promised Legolas that he would do.

 _No, Estel,_ the Silvan rued of his lover, who was outmatched by Mithfindl in strength, ability, and experience. As the feverish and injured human tried to lift his broadsword, Mithfindl stepped upon the blade, which wrenched the hilt from the Adan’s hands. Forgotten by the Noldo and Ranger for the nonce, Legolas scrambled to his knees. He looked about him for a weapon, his near nakedness and the molestation he’d just endured were forgotten – Estel was in peril.

Fortunately, for Estel, Mithfindl still thought he controlled the situation. He still believed Legolas was unconscious. Otherwise, the Noldo might have slain the Ranger immediately to keep from being outnumbered. Instead, Mithfindl laughed at having bested the human before Aragorn even managed to lift his sword.

Unfortunately, for Mithfindl, Estel was not one to give in so easily. The Ranger swept his arm around the warrior’s legs, unbalancing him. Mithfindl fell to the ground with his sword arm under him, not only impeding his ability to recuperate his balance quickly, but disarming him, as well, when the Ranger grabbed the Noldorin warrior's other arm. Forced to drop his sword, as Aragorn was now trying to twist the Noldo’s arm behind his back to subdue him, Mithfindl screamed out in aggravation. Though all of this had taken only seconds, it seemed forever to Legolas, who fought to gain his feet, for his muddled mind worked only slightly faster than his injured body. His vision swam sickeningly; the entire forest spun around him until the Wood-Elf felt sure that he would fall back to the forest floor.

_Estel._

His heart was beating too fast; indeed, now that he stood, his ears began to ring and he could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat. He saw his long knife upon the muddy forest floor, where Mithfindl had dropped it, and seized it with his shaky, clammy hand, his splinted fingers breaking the sticks to which they were tied so that even those two swollen, broken digits could help to keep hold of the hilt.

_I have to protect Estel._

Lumbering towards where the Noldo and Ranger fought for supremacy over the other, the Prince abruptly fell to his knees, his mind dimming until he nearly passed out, and then his whole body fell headlong such that he almost ended up face first on the muddy ground.

_I have to kill Mithfindl._

Mithfindl thrust his elbow into the man’s stomach, by chance hitting the Adan in the one place that would hurt him the most. At once, Estel released his hold upon Mithfindl. Already upon his knees, the human fell forward to hold himself up by his hands as the infected, swollen, and agonizing wound upon his belly became the whole of his attention. And still neither Ranger nor Noldo noticed the Wood-Elf. Mithfindl stood with a snicker, the human’s broadsword now in hand. With what was left of him, Legolas climbed to his feet.

“Just for that,” Mithfindl was telling the Ranger, spouting more repugnant promises to the bent over, suffering human, “after I’m done piercing your whore upon my shaft, you can watch while I pierce his arse with a real dagger. But first,” the Noldo said, hefting the Ranger’s broadsword in hand, “I think you need a little attention, since you’re feeling left out.”

Mithfindl thrust the Ranger’s broadsword through the air, intending to impale the human in the belly so that he would not be quick to die but languish in agony, which would give Mithfindl plenty of time to torture the Wood-Elf while forcing Aragorn to watch before torturing Estel to death, as well.

 _No,_ the Wood-Elf thought as he stepped forward, his mind clearing, his hand clenched tight upon his long knife’s hilt, and his stride confident. _You will not hurt him._

Legolas’ hand snatched the Noldo by the hair at the back of the head, in the same area where the periapt had been placed upon the Wood-Elf by the Noldo, except instead of imprecations to control Mithfindl’s movement, Legolas used pure determination to yank the stalwart warrior away from the Ranger.

He had once thought it important for the Noldo to know who it was to kill him. He had thought it necessary for his own sanity for Mithfindl to see his face while dying or for him to say something biting or vindictive while performing this utmost act of revenge. Neither of these things mattered to him now. Indeed, it did not even cross the Silvan’s mind to try to subdue the Noldo. He did not consider trying to knock Mithfindl unconscious to take him back to the valley for judgment. The Noldo was trying to hurt Estel. That was all that Legolas knew and all that mattered. As he yanked his fellow Elf backwards, Legolas quickly lifted his long knife to Mithfindl’s neck. In retaliation for the wrongs done against him, the Elf had not been able to kill Mithfindl. But in defense of Estel, the Wood-Elf did not falter. Instinctively, wordlessly, without needing to taunt Mithfindl but only to exterminate him, Legolas dragged his long knife’s blade across the Noldo’s neck, splitting Mithfindl’s throat from ear to ear.

He could feel the warmth of the Noldo’s blood rushing over his hand – the warmth from Mithfindl’s blood was the only sensation that he could feel; the rest of him felt cold and diaphanous, like frost upon a window on an algid winter’s morning. He could hear the gurgling sound of Mithfindl’s final attempts at breath but the noise was distant, audible only because the swift beating of his heart was rapidly slowing. Most importantly, through an adumbrate grey haze and the distracting, occasional scintillating raindrop, he saw that by pulling Mithfindl to him, the broadsword had stopped short of coming close to hurting Estel. The shocked Ranger was kneeling on the ground before them, his face pale and eyes wide, his face smeared in mud and his wet hair mussed and wild, but injured no worse than before.

As Legolas pushed Mithfindl away from him, he let the Noldo’s body fall to the forest floor without a second thought as to what he’d done. He had killed another Elf. He had found his revenge. He had saved Estel’s life. The turmoil of the last several days was now over. The Ranger, his father and people, the twins and anyone else in the forest looking for them – they were now safe from Mithfindl. The task that had been his sole impetus for living was completed. For a brief moment, the laegel stood there, his mind utterly blank, his faer free of the fear of Mithfindl’s touch, his return, or his memory. Although everyone, including himself, had dreaded that if Legolas actually managed to kill Mithfindl that the Prince would give in to grief, the Wood-Elf realized something very strange.

He felt no sorrow. For the first time in months – perhaps in years – Legolas felt in full control of his mind and body, of his actions, and of his future.

Of course, all of this had come too late. A warmth different from Mithfindl’s spattered blood took his attention away from where Estel was still kneeling, watching him, speaking to him with increasing anxiety, and now standing to come to the Prince. This different warmth came from his chest. Legolas looked down at his torso. The blossom of blood from the arrow wound was flourishing into a full bouquet. 


	15. Chapter 15

In shock, the Ranger watched the life leave Mithfindl’s eyes. The silver-haired Noldo had never even known he was about to die. The sneering grin he’d worn when preparing to stab the human was still upon his face; it matched the outlandish smile created by his yawning neck wound.

 _Greenleaf cut him nearly to the spine,_ the Adan noticed distractedly of Mithfindl.

And indeed, the Noldo’s throat was not merely slit; it was almost cleaved in two, for the Wood-Elf’s long knife had opened Mithfindl’s flesh like a finger parting water. Aragorn did not know about how Kalin had diligently whetted his Prince’s long knife until it was sharper than it ought to have been, but had he known, he would still have wondered at the extreme viciousness with which Legolas had slain his tormentor. Neither he nor Mithfindl had taken note of the suddenly sentient laegel until the last moment, so seeing Legolas as he grabbed Mithfindl by the hair to yank him backwards, the Elf not hesitating in the slightest as he carved the Noldo’s head nearly from his shoulders, had utterly shocked the Adan. The Ranger had been certain that he would be impaled upon his own broadsword to end up disemboweled and dying slowly, that he would be forced to watch the Prince’s excruciation at Mithfindl’s loathsome hands, that Mithfindl might do as he’d just suggested and rape the Wood-Elf with a blade after defiling him with his shaft, and that in the end, both he and Legolas would end up victims to the Noldo’s perverse lust for revenge. So certain had he been that all of this would happen that when his broadsword did not impale his already wounded belly, the Ranger was at an utter loss.

Estel forced his attention away from Mithfindl’s grisly corpse and focused upon the laegel, allowing himself no time for relief. _He will bleed out,_ the human determined, his eyes drawn immediately to the blood upon the Prince’s chest. Aragorn gathered his wits and pushed away his astonishment, pressed a hand to his now seething belly, and stood to get to Legolas. If he did not stop the blood leaking from the Prince’s thinned and battered chest, Legolas would not live to appreciate the vengeance he’d wrought upon Mithfindl.

“Greenleaf?” he asked quietly and somewhat fearfully, stopping a few strides away from the Prince, for the Elf had a wild look about him, his eyes glazed and unseeing, and his bloodied chest heaving for air. Again, the Ranger said his lover’s common nickname in the hopes of pulling the Elf from the frenzy in which he was seemingly caught, “Greenleaf?”

The Prince shuffled toward Estel. His rain soaked and filthy hair hung in tangled ropes around his face. Blood and mud were smeared over his pale visage, while the same blood – Mithfindl’s blood – slathered his hands and forearms a bright red. His neck was bleeding from the shallow cuts that the Noldo had made to it. Although he still wore the now gore stained shirt that Aragorn had given him, which came down almost to his knees, the trousers he’d been wearing were gone. At some point during the Elf’s struggle to stand and walk to Mithfindl, the trousers had fallen from the Prince’s thighs, to where they had been pushed down by the Noldo, and the laegel had merely stepped out of the loose trousers, such that he was nude from the waist down. To Estel, the Wood-Elf looked like a heathen warrior from some untamed, unknown land – at Legolas’ advance, Aragorn took a step back in alarm that bloodlust had taken over the Elf’s mind.

However, when Legolas blinked in surprise at this unexpected reaction and his fair brow wrinkled in confusion, the Ranger knew that his lover was not absent and his intent to aid the Wood-Elf whelmed his momentary, anomalous fear of the laegel. The Silvan did not advance farther upon the human but fell to his knees with a loud inhale of breath that was followed by a low groan of agony. The blood from Legolas’ chest that had been seeping shortly ago was again a torrent, as the wound was worsened by the laegel’s exertion in killing Mithfindl. All fierceness left the Silvan as his consciousness began to abandon him. Before the Prince could fall forwards onto his face, Aragorn was there to catch him. Gently, Estel aided the waning laegel into twisting so that he could lie upon his back on the soft, muddy, grass covered ground.

Nearby, Mithfindl stared in their direction, but his eyes were unsighted and unfocused and would remain so until the end of all things – that is, unless Námo eventually took pity upon the vile Noldo and deemed him worthy of re-embodiment to live in Aman amongst his kind. Childishly, the Ranger found himself wishing that Námo would keep Mithfindl in the Houses of the Dead until the world was unmade. He wanted Legolas never to encounter Mithfindl again – not even in the Undying Lands.

He gathered the Elf up from the ground to hold him in his arms for now. He clasped the Silvan’s head to his belly, although it hurt him fiercely to pester his infected wound there. Since he’d declared his love for Legolas, it seemed that he was ever on the verge of losing him. From when the Adan was ten years of age, the Elf and human had been friends, but only in the last several months had the Ranger garnered the Prince’s love and affection, as he had long desired. He could easily count the number of days in those months that he and Legolas had been able to enjoy each other without fearing the scar, Thranduil’s rage, Kane, or Mithfindl. Ever was their love contested by events beyond their control or people who could hurt them. But now, according to the laegel, the scar was no more. Thranduil had accepted Estel as Legolas’ mate – perhaps because he felt that the Prince could do little better since the King believed his son impure and mad with grief, but beggars could not be choosers and Estel would take what he could get. Kane was slain. Sven and Cort were long since slain. And now Mithfindl was slain by the Wood-Elf’s own hand, which ought to be of respite to Legolas, who needed to feel that he had control over his own will and body once again. All that had barred or tried to bar the two from being together was now eradicated or ameliorated. 

 _Live,_ he wanted to tell the Elf. _Please want to live now. We might finally have a chance to be as we should be – with each other and without strife._ The human cast a final glance at Mithfindl, as if he expected the Noldo to reawaken to offer argument or insult against the Ranger’s cautious optimism. He loosened his hold upon the Prince so that he could look him in the face.

“Greenleaf,” he whispered to his failing lover, shaking the Elf by his hold of him when he saw that the Prince’s eyes were closed. “Greenleaf, you have done it. He is dead. We are safe. Do not die on me now.”

To the human’s relief, Legolas opened his eyes. The Silvan smiled faintly, showing his bloodied teeth to the Adan as he said, “You are not hurt, Estel?”

“I am unhurt. You saved me yet again,” Aragorn teasingly told the Prince, giving Legolas a cheerful smile in return. He swept the snarled hair out of the Elf’s eyes, his fingers lingering over the laegel’s face as he traced Legolas’ familiar, striking features, of which Estel would not once forget the feel or sight even unto the day of his death. “As you always seem to do when most I need it. In fact, twice today you have saved this silly human’s life. I will need to make you some honeyed cakes just to show my gratitude.”

“You would only end up eating them all,” Legolas said as his eyes closed again, though he chuckled quietly in amusement and his tender smile curled upwards as he continued, “Good. Then it is over.”

Aragorn’s heart leapt into his throat. Unaware that the laegel’s grief was greatly improved by the Elf’s ferocious butchery of Mithfindl, he thought that the Silvan was telling him that his purpose in living was complete and that he could now die. “No,” he argued. “No,” he said again in firm command, jolting the Elf slightly to try to rouse him. “It is not done. Stay awake and stay with me. We can make it back to the valley, the two of us. Glorfindel and the twins, your Minyatar and maybe even your father… they are coming for us. Do not die on me, Greenleaf,” the Adan repeated. “Stay awake.”

“I will try. But I am tired.” Legolas’ voice was declining, becoming a mere susurration. His eyes began to roll around, showing their whites rather than the beautiful cobalt irises that the Ranger adored. The Adan knew that his lover was losing consciousness, that the laegel likely no longer had a choice in whether he remained awake or not. Surprisingly, though, the Wood-Elf fixated upon the human again, his voice becoming steady and his eyes sharp upon the Ranger when he told him, “I do not wish to die, Estel. I wish to go hunting with you. I want to go into the wilds with you, as I promised.” The Elf gave the Adan the peculiar smile that the Ranger prized above all others, echoing Aragorn’s thoughts of just moments ago when saying, “Just the two of us. There is nothing standing between us now. I will keep my promise to you, if Ilúvatar wills it.”

Leaning forward, lancing pain shooting through his belly at the motion, Aragorn laid his forehead against the Elf’s brow, while tears welled in his eyes at the pure happiness he felt to hear this from Legolas. If the Wood-Elf wished to live and died still, then the Ranger would at least be content to know that the Silvan had fought to survive. For now, it was all he could ask for from the Elf.

“Then you will live, Greenleaf. I will not let you die,” he promised the laegel, making this oath though he knew that he might not be able to keep it if the Elf’s injuries were beyond his ability to facilitate in healing or if help did not arrive soon. Unable to stop himself and though he knew that now was not the time, the Ranger could not let another moment pass without apologizing, saying, “I am sorry. I jumped from the way thinking that you were aiming for me. I thought you were hallucinating. I am sorry to have doubted you, Greenleaf.”

“I do not blame you for doubting me.” The Elf raised one blood soaked hand and gripped the Ranger’s forearm, where it embraced the laegel’s torso. “I am glad for it. I am glad that his arrow hit me instead of you.”

The human sighed in relief to know that he was forgiven. He might refuse to consider that Legolas could die, but he was glad to know that he had the Wood-Elf’s clemency before it was too late to ask for it. “I am glad that you awoke in time to kill him.”

To the Adan’s dismay, the laegel admitted with a grimace of pain that turned into a satisfied smile as he explained, “I woke when he rolled me over and the arrow tugged free. I was waiting to surprise him. It worked out much better than the first time by the pond.”

 _Then he heard every word of what Mithfindl said. He endured every moment of Mithfindl’s fondling,_ the Ranger rued. His only comfort during those moments of watching the Noldo mistreat the Wood-Elf had been his believing that Legolas was unaware of what was occurring; the Prince told him now that he had been secretly aware of it all. Not wanting to show the laegel his discontent, however, he once more smiled back at the Silvan to tell him, “You certainly surprised him – and me, also.”

Legolas chuckled inaudibly. His amused chortle must have pained him greatly, though, for the Prince gasped sharply only to moan at the agony that breathing caused him, as well. The Wood-Elf whispered again, “I do not want to die. I want to go to the valley. I want to hear Elladan and Elrohir argue over inanities and hear Minyatar’s lecture for getting hurt again. I want to see my father, even if he is enraged and yelling. I want to see Kalin heal.” The Prince’s soft voice was tearful, which caused the human to rise up to see his lover’s face; indeed, tears were slipping from Legolas’ eyes, which were once more sliding shut, try though he did to keep them open and upon the Ranger. “I want to stay with you but I am tired. I am sorry, Estel,” was the last that the Elf said ere his breathing hitched and the Prince lost his battle to remain conscious.

For a few moments that he should not have spared, for already had he waited too long to try to stem the flow of the Elf’s life essence, the Ranger held onto the laegel. It was not often that an Elf’s skin felt cold, but right now, with little blood left to flow through his veins, Legolas’ flesh was cooler than was Aragorn’s, though the human considered that it could just be that he was burning up from fever and thus was a poor comparison. Carefully, the human laid his lover back upon the ground and then pulled up the Prince’s borrowed shirt to look at the damage done. The Wood-Elf was now exposed entirely from mid-chest to his bare feet – the Ranger was glad to see that the Prince had sustained no greater injury to his person than what he’d already viewed when tending the laegel’s bruises earlier, save for the terrible wound to his chest.

Just under his left breast, luckily coming nowhere near his heart, was where the projectile had been lodged before Mithfindl’s carelessness had ripped the arrow free. The Adan used the opportunity of the Wood-Elf’s unconsciousness to determine the depth that the arrow had pierced the Prince’s torso. With his smallest finger, the Adan gingerly prodded into the opening. As he had hoped, the wound went no deeper than his second knuckle. As gruesome as it was, the Ranger pressed inside the Silvan’s wound, his fingertip rubbing against what felt to be splinters.

At first, he thought that the arrow had fragmented upon impact, but upon checking the arrow itself, the Ranger found no signs of this and so concluded, _His ribs stopped it from puncturing his lung, but it has fractured or splintered one in doing so. It is no wonder that he was heaving for air if a rib is broken, and yet, at least it will heal more easily than a punctured lung._ The Elves were hardier, mended quicker, and were less likely to succumb to injury than any other race on Arda, but Legolas’ body was already malnourished, bruised, and weary from grief. Aragorn could only pray that the Elf would keep his word and try to survive, because if he lacked the will to live, then no healer would be able to coax his deteriorating rhaw into remaining when his faer wished to flee.

“Oh, Greenleaf,” the Ranger lamented aloud to the Elf. “Your Minyatar will be most displeased,” he rambled just to fill the deathly silence of the still forest. “He will lecture you for days for coming back to the valley so injured.”

The human refused to think of the Elf dying before ever making it back to the Last Homely House. It was beyond his realm of contemplation.

He had no supplies with which to try to be of much aid to Legolas, but the Ranger began the process of seeing to his lover’s wounds nonetheless. Removing his tunic, he used his broadsword to cut strips from the fabric, fashioned a crude bandage, and then wound more cloth to press the bandage as tightly as possible to the Wood-Elf’s injury. He rolled the remainder of his tunic into a makeshift pillow, placed the Wood-Elf’s head upon it so that he would not be lying in the mud of the forest floor, and then arranged the Silvan as comfortably as he could. Through all this toil, the human found his eyes slithering shut, his chin drooping to his chest, and his own weariness and fever beginning to take its toil upon him.

 _I ought to take him to the river. Glorfindel will find us more quickly if we are on the path along the Bruinen,_ he told himself, although he feared to try to move the Prince.

It was likely that he would drop Legolas should he try to carry him. They had been walking close to the river but not beside it so that they could hide amidst the trees in case Mithfindl searched for them. Now that the Noldo was dead, they were no longer in immediate danger. Moreover, their plan had relied upon Legolas being conscious; he would have likely heard the horses and Elves as they rode the river path to find the Prince and Adan, but now that Legolas was unconscious, the human worried that he might not hear their rescuers, which might eventuate in Glorfindel and whomever he brought with him to pass by the Elf and Ranger.

Thirst and hunger were making the human feel dizzy. If he wanted to take care of Legolas then he would have to take care of himself, as well. Aragorn did not shirk from dead bodies since he had seen plenty of them during his time, but the Adan was not eager to go near Mithfindl. However, thinking that the Noldo might be carrying something that could be of use to them, Estel shambled his way to the dead Elf. Having been raised amongst the Elves, Aragorn was continually perturbed by seeing a deceased Elf, whose immortal lives were always cut too short no matter their age when dying. This was not his first Elven corpse, though, and he had no pity for Mithfindl. He believed that Mithfindl had deserved his demise; indeed, the Ranger thought that the Noldo had not merited a death as quick and relatively painless as his ended up being.

He searched the Elf’s body as swiftly as he could, finding a few useful things, to his gladness. The Noldo had a full waterskin and a rain drenched but still comestible pouch of cured meat. Aragorn drained half the waterskin in one swallow, popped a few pieces of the meat into his mouth, and as he chewed, pulled the skin of miruvor from his tunic pocket. He shook the small container, feeling the minute amount of the cordial as it swished around, while thinking, _I ought to have given this to Greenleaf before he passed out but I might as well try to give it to him now, anyway. He might not wake up again to drink it properly._

The midday had slipped into afternoon. Still the rain poured down upon the human and the unconscious Elf beside whom he crouched in fearful vigil. Aragorn uncorked the skin, tilted Legolas’ head back, and told the Prince, “Drink this, Greenleaf. It is all I have that may help you.”

At the sound of the Ranger’s voice, the Wood-Elf’s brow furrowed momentarily. Taking this as a good sign, the human dribbled the miruvor between the laegel’s lips. Evincing that he was not completely unaware but dwelling in some state between insentience and normal Elven reverie, Legolas swallowed the cordial instinctually, much to the weakening human’s relief. When the very last drop of the miruvor was poured into the Prince’s mouth, Aragorn tossed the skin aside. As he laid the Elf’s head back down upon his rolled up tunic, the Ranger reached for Wood-Elf’s discarded and until now forgotten trousers, thinking that he would replace them upon the Prince. As he leant over, his arm out to grab for the trousers, he felt a strange sensation on his belly.

Being that he was now nude from the waist up, since he had used most of his tunic for bandages for Legolas, Aragorn had merely to look down to see what was the matter with his stomach. He had long since given up trying to keep the wound dry and covered with linen, so it was uncovered now, which made it easy for him to see the blood and suppuration that poured forth from the small wound. The stitches his Ada had made had long since pulled free but his fight with Mithfindl had torn the wound asunder completely.

 _This is worse than I thought,_ the human realized. He sat back upon his haunches, his idea to replace the Elf’s trousers forgotten, and watched the bloody pus trickle from his flesh. Taking up a bit of tunic that he’d kept aside for more bandaging, the Ranger wiped at his belly but soon gave up when doing so made him feel dizzy, for even that slight amount of pressure upon his stomach was causing him intense pain. So instead, he returned his attention to Legolas in the hopes that keeping his focus upon the Prince might distract him from his own discomfort and the fever that was beginning to leach away his ability to think clearly.

 _This is very bad,_ he thought to himself while stroking the unconscious Wood-Elf’s forehead. _Both of us in the woods, me with a fever and Legolas nearly exsanguinated,_ he rambled to himself. _We may be reasonably safe here in the woods, but that doesn’t mean that we will survive if I do not stay awake._

The longer he sat there, the more the cured meat in his stomach wanted out, and so unable to squash the impulse, Aragorn hurriedly stood and stumbled a few feet away to the trunk of a tree, which he leant upon while sicking up the water he had managed to drink and the cured meat his hungry stomach had previously desired but wanted no part of now. Vomiting pulled at the tender and inflamed muscles of his belly, which only caused him more pain and thus more nausea. When he had nothing left to retch up, the Adan tried to return to the  Prince, for he still hoped that the laegel would be his impetus for remaining awake and aware to be of aid to Legolas.

However, his last thoughts before he fell unconscious were, _I cannot pass out. Greenleaf needs me._

These thoughts were not enough to keep the dark from taking over his mind; Aragorn stumbled over towards Legolas, his body suddenly slack as awareness escaped him. 


	16. Chapter 16

By chance, the abruptly insentient Ranger’s head banged into the Elf’s torso – right where pieces of the human’s tunic served as bandaging for the Prince’s injured side – and thereby kept the human from slamming his face against the ground. This chance occurrence also caused agony to erupt in Legolas’ body, which pulled him from the comfort of half-consciousness. Even with the sudden influx of acute pain, the Wood-Elf remained only half-aware, though he was now cognizant enough to desire to be awake to find the cause for his suffering. The somnolent Silvan tried to look around him but found that his lids were too heavy and too lethargic to obey him. His bloodshot eyes rolled around in their sockets, peeking out from behind his fluttering lashes, and his brow twitched as he sought to concentrate, to rise, and to find out why what felt to be a small but intense fire was burning through the flesh of his chest.

 _Estel? What has happened?_ he questioned, thinking in his muddled daze that he spoke aloud to the Ranger, whose presence he felt beside him though he had no evidence to think that this was so other than intuition. _Why does my chest feel like it is aflame?_

For several long, confusing, but pleasingly artless moments, the Elf thought to be in his chamber in Imladris. He could hear water and so assumed he heard the falls, when in fact he heard only the rushing Loudwater, which during the rest of the year was not as loud in this part of the forest since it was not normally swollen with floodwater as it was now. He recognized the familiar warmth of Estel’s body, for he thought he felt the human’s head upon his chest, and so anticipated that he was resting serenely in his bed with the Ranger. He had an elusive but pleasant memory of recently having enjoyed himself or having found some vague kind of release, which made him surmise that he and the Adan had fallen asleep after making love, for he felt strangely satisfied and tranquil, as he often did after he and Estel shared their bodies.

When the Adan did not answer his question – a question that was never actually spoken aloud and could not have been answered by the insensible Ranger anyway – the Prince considered quieting his mind so that he could continue to slumber with his human lover. He was tired. In fact, Legolas was as exhausted as he could ever remember being. That he could manage to sleep despite the throbbing of his chest should have concerned him, but to avoid facing the insurmountable pain that some cognizant part of his mind knew would only increase should he wake, he nearly let himself slip away into reverie. Luckily for Legolas and thus Estel by extension, the Wood-Elf found that he was thirsty, which wrenched him back from the brink of oblivion.

 _I need water,_ he told himself as he tried to wet his chapped lips with an equally dry tongue. His mouth felt desiccated, as though it were a wizened autumn leaf ready to fall from the tree. However, when the Wood-Elf tried to moisten his parched lips, he found that he could taste miruvor on them. The surprise of finding this unmistakably distinguishable taste upon his mouth was enough for his darkened mind to connect two ideas that thus far seemed unrelated until now – his chest was causing him excruciating pain and someone had given him a medicinal cordial. _Am I injured?_ he wondered.

Finally, the laegel was able to pry one eye open completely and the other followed suit. As shadowy as the stormy forest currently was, Legolas peered through the fringe of his lashes when the dim sunlight blinded him. Everything around him was fuzzy and out of focus. In addition to the agony from his chest – the source of which he did not yet recollect – he could sense an abnormal warmness emanating from where the Ranger rested his head upon the Prince’s torso, just beneath his left breast, for the Ranger had passed out trying to get back to the laegel and fallen just before reaching him. This part of his chest also seemed to be the focus of one of the most harrowing agonies Legolas had ever experienced in his long life. Indeed, the only other time he had felt such torment was when carving the flesh from his thigh to rid himself of the mad voice of his grief.

Thickly, his throat clenching and his tongue sticking to the inside of his dried out mouth, Legolas tried to swallow; doing so caused him to begin to cough, which only brought about more pain. When the laegel’s already fuzzy vision began to darken, as he was unable to catch his breath again, the Elf instinctually tried to sit so that he might be able to breathe easier. Legolas rolled and unintentionally turned upon his injured side, which caused Estel’s head to tumble off the Prince. The feeling of the fevered man’s head as it slid from the Wood-Elf’s throbbing, bare torso – for his shirt was pulled up to his shoulders – and the increase in discomfort from the slight movement of twisting his chest nearly drove the laegel back into unconsciousness. It was the dire need for air that kept him from falling senseless onto the muddy ground, but it was the sudden, focused view of the utterly lifeless human that fomented his feeble velleity to sit into resolute volition to rise to be of aid to Estel.

Having first assumed the warmth he could feel was merely Aragorn’s natural body heat, the Prince now considered in slowly arraying contemplation, _There is only one reason why Estel would be so hot – fever._

“Estel?” he croaked out before he even succeeded in drawing in enough air to speak properly. The Wood-Elf rasped in another weak breath before he said again, this time infusing as much volume and force into his utterance as he could, “Estel?”

And still Legolas did not know what was happening. Over the last week, the laegel had eaten very little; over the last two days, he had eaten nothing at all since sharing a rabbit with Kalin. Although he had drunk his fill of water, it offered little by way of nourishment. The Elf had been beaten, strangled, stabbed, sliced and cut, molested, nearly drowned, and almost driven insane by his being left in a cesspit in the utter dark – he remembered none of this for the moment.

Rapidly, Legolas blinked his eyes as if by doing so he could clear his mind of the fog obscuring his thinking. He cautiously sat fully upright to look around him. The first thing that he noticed was Mithfindl, who was lying across the way, his eyes wide open and lightless, and his flesh split to expose the gory depths of the Noldo’s throat. He surveyed his surroundings, noting the bloodstained grass, his equally grisly long knife, Estel’s abandoned broadsword, quiver and bow, and Legolas’ own quiver and bow that Mithfindl had stolen from him. When the Wood-Elf turned his attention back to the Ranger, who looked almost peaceful as he lay upon the grass, the laegel struggled to place the reason for the human’s flushed and febrile appearance, though he felt he should know the cause behind it. He reached out to place his hand upon Estel’s forehead, to gauge for himself the fever he could see there, which was when he truly noted what was before him, for it was then that he saw the blood that crusted his body – most especially his right arm from elbow to fingertips.

_I killed him. I killed Mithfindl._

Caught in a very unwelcome gust of memory, Legolas doubled over with the assailment of all that had happened to him and because of him. He now knew why he was lying in the forest during a storm, with rain pattering down upon him. He knew why his chest thrummed agony through his body in time with his meagerly beating heart. He knew that he was responsible for Mithfindl’s lifeless, mutilated corpse. He also knew that he was just as responsible for Estel’s sickness. It all came back to him, despite how much that he wished to retain the pleasant bewilderment that he had first felt upon wakening. Nothing cut through his confusion as quickly as the realization that the Ranger was lying upon the forest floor because of the infection of the wound the Elf had made in his lover’s belly. Nothing else mattered to Legolas but this. Whatever relief that might have reverberated through his perpetually aggrieved faer, whatever pain he might have felt from his beleaguered rhaw, and whatever fear that might rise within him at the thought of being in the forest, severely injured with the equally gravely sick human’s life now in his blood-soaked hands – Legolas was able to incinerate all of this distraction with the comburent thought, _I have to get Estel to the valley; if we stay here, he will die._

The miruvor that the Ranger had given the Wood-Elf only a short while ago – though the laegel had no notion of when he had been given it or for how long he had been unconscious – was the primary reason that his body obeyed him when the Prince scrambled to his knees to lean over the prone human. Had not Estel thought to dribble those scant drops of the cordial between the Silvan’s lips, Legolas might never have awoken at all, for his own condition was poorer than the Ranger’s health, and the two lovers might perchance have been found too late, having no chance to be saved rather than the slim chance they had now.

The laegel could see for himself the pus and blood that seeped from the Adan’s belly; while looking upon it, he thought, _In all my years, never have I wished to have trained as a healer until now. I know nothing of human sickness._ The Silvan slid his hand over the human’s flushed brow, promising the man, _If we make it back to the valley alive, I swear upon all that is left of me that I will learn what I can so that if you ever become sick again, I will know how to help you._

For now, though, the Elf knew that the most he could do to help his Ranger was to take him home. Legolas pressed a hand upon the wound to his chest to feel how much blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage there – this simple act brought his breath to a halt and nearly caused him to retch, so great was the misery it caused. _If Estel is right, if the Imladrian guard and Kalin reached the Last Homely House in a timely manner, then our rescuers should be on their way right now._ As the Ranger had earlier thought, the Prince told himself now, _If we stay here, there is a chance that our rescuers might pass us, not knowing that we are in the woods nearby. Even should they return this way or follow our trail to here, we will have lost hours if not days in wait. Estel does not have that long._

The Elf did not have that long, either, he knew, but gave it little thought. His mind made up to try to make it to the Bruinen, Legolas ciphered how best to go about this. He pulled his trousers to him with the intent of pulling them on only to realize that since Mithfindl had cut the string once more, they would never stay up and thus hinder him on his way to the river. He did not want to chance dropping the Ranger as he carried him and if Legolas tripped and fell, he might never make it back to his feet.

So instead, the Silvan tossed his borrowed trousers to the side. The shirt he wore – Estel’s shirt – came down his knees, at least, but even had he been stark naked, the Prince would not have been dissuaded from his course. The only concern he had was getting the Ranger to safety. He ambled around in tentative, tender caution while plotting what to do and what to take with him. Near to Aragorn’s body, as though he had dropped it while passing out, there lay a skin of water, though the cap was off and the water was mostly spilt out upon the ground. Legolas bent to retrieve this and nearly toppled over when the forest spun around him as he stood back up. After emptying the dregs of the skin into his thirsting mouth, he shoved the skin’s cork into its opening; he would fill it up at the river to have a means to give Estel water, should the Ranger ever waken to drink it. Since he would be carrying the human, Legolas would be unable to bring much else – not that they had much else to bring, as the Adan’s pack had been lost in the Bruinen and the Prince had not been carrying much with him even before being caught by Mithfindl days ago.

 _I cannot lug any of this and Estel, too. Please,_ he prayed to Elbereth, _please do not let us encounter any Orc, Warg, or bandit._

They were close enough to the valley that the two should be safe because most maleficent beings were deterred from coming close to Elrond’s protective presence over Rivendell, but Legolas did not like being in the woods without his bow and quiver at ready. His arms would be too occupied in holding Estel, though, and thus his bow would be of little use for immediate danger; moreover, the Prince was afraid that he would not be able to pull the string with two broken fingers and what he assumed were broken ribs. In the end, the laegel decided to take only his long knife. He strapped his belt around his waist, wiped onto the wet grass underfoot the worst of the cruor from the blade, and then slid it into its sheath. He then hid the Ranger’s broadsword and both their quivers and bows in the lower branches of a tree – he would have hidden them farther up for safekeeping, but raising his left arm above his head just for the few moments it took to complete this task stole the Elf’s breath, causing him to cough fitfully and bright flashes of light to dance before his eyes, ere his vision began to darken. Once he could both breathe and see again, Legolas tied the empty waterskin to his belt. He had only been awake for a short while and accomplished only a little of what needed to be done to save the human, but this activity had dulled the Prince’s mind with the excruciation that it caused; already he could feel blood began to ooze afresh from his chest.

As had Estel, Legolas thought to check Mithfindl’s body for anything of use. He shambled to the dead Noldo and then paused as he stood over Mithfindl. He hesitated to touch the Elf, no matter that he was dead. Not seeing anything of use upon the Noldo, Legolas turned to walk away but faltered as he thought of Mithfindl being left here for scavenging animals. He had killed the Noldo – and gladly so – but to leave a fellow Elf’s body in the open where it might be gnawed on by some animal seemed a profane act. When the Noldo had been alive, Legolas would not have dithered to say that he hated the vile Elf, but now that Mithfindl was dead, he saw Mithfindl for what he was – a troubled, slightly mad being that had let the darkness of greed and hate eclipse the natural light of his Elven soul.

“There is nothing I can do for you,” he mumbled aloud to the Noldorin warrior. Kneeling down beside Mithfindl, the laegel slid his two broken fingers lightly over the Elf’s eyelids, one by one, to close them against the rain. “You are dead but Estel is alive. If I make it to the valley, I will send someone back to claim your body.”

This was more kindness than the Noldo would have shown the Wood-Elf or Ranger, the Prince knew, but with Mithfindl dead, it was unreasonable and detrimental to his own sanity to be hateful towards the Noldo any longer. With that, Legolas returned to Estel. The febrile human was shivering despite the heat of the summer day. As Aragorn had done only a short while earlier – though Legolas had been unconscious for it – the Prince took stock of his lover’s injuries. Overall, the muddied Ranger wasn’t nearly as injured as was the laegel, for other than a few minor bruises and marks from scuffling with Mithfindl, the only wound upon him was the one upon his belly that had made been days ago. The stitches hung disconnected, having pulled from the edges of the man’s flesh. Estel had left it uncovered by bandaging; he had allowed dirt and rain into the injury.

Because of Legolas, because the Prince had fled the valley to kill Mithfindl, and because Estel loved the Elf so dearly that he would eagerly risk his own life to ascertain that Legolas’ life was long and hale, the Ranger had forsaken his own health. When these guilty thoughts began to creep through the Wood-Elf’s mind, he pushed aside this useless emotion. If he lived long enough for it, he would take the time to feel guilty. Now, however, Legolas wanted to remain fixated upon one thing and only that one thing – getting the Ranger to the river. He could plan nor think further than that objective. He was quite certain that he might not even live long enough to see the Bruinen again. He had to try.

“I am taking you home, Estel,” he told his lover. With fondness and utter adulation that he had never before felt for another being and would never feel again for anyone else, Legolas leant forward with a hand upon either side of the man’s whiskered check to press a kiss to the human’s lips. His palms slid through the sweat soaking the Ranger’s stubble and he could feel the heat coming from Aragorn’s skin as though he had placed his hands upon a coal from a dying fire. Groaning as he sat back up and then giving a whimpering, sharp inhale as he struggled to pull the Ranger to him, Legolas gave an oath to the man, “If I have to carry you all the way into the courtyard, I am taking you home to your father and brothers. You will not die because of me.”

He hefted the human over his shoulder on his uninjured side, wishing that he had some other means to convey the Ranger, since the Adan’s wounded belly was pressed tightly and probably painfully against the Elf’s shoulder. He could do nothing for it, however. The laegel normally could have carried the man easily, for though the Ranger was heavy with muscle, Legolas was an Elf, of course, and customarily was strong enough to bear the man’s weight for long distances and long periods of time. He had done so several times when the Adan was injured and Estel had returned the favor a time or two, as well, with the most recent being when Aragorn transported the Prince to Imladris after their encounter with the vile merchants in the woods around Lake-town. However, right now the Silvan was more than likely injured mortally, he was undernourished, and the wound to his chest made it very difficult for him to breathe. This task would be the death of him, the Elf knew.

With Estel’s waist carefully, securely folded over his shoulder, Legolas fought back undulating, battering waves of excruciating agony as he rose to his knees and then to his feet, wavering slightly as he struggled to find and maintain his balance. _To the river._ He lied to himself, saying, _Just make it to the river and all will be well. Once there, I will rest and think of what to do next._

Miruvor was not a cure-all. In fact, miruvor was medicinal only in that it renewed one’s flagging vitality, but it would not cure the cause of the decline. From the moment that he had tasted the miruvor upon his lips, the laegel had realized that the only cause for his being awake and aware at all was that the miruvor had fooled the laegel’s failing body into thinking that it could continue for a while longer.

The Wood-Elf knew better. When the miruvor’s effects wore off – should the Prince even last long enough for that to happen – then Legolas would not be of any use to Estel. He would no longer be able to carry him and he would not be able to protect the Ranger from any dangers they might encounter in the forest. When the miruvor’s effects began to wane, so to would the laegel’s health until at some point, Legolas would merely drop to the mud, never the wiser that his life was finished. Not even miruvor would be able to keep his heart beating should it finally give in once his blood loss became too severe. The cordial could do little to fix him, but it could keep him going for a little while longer by giving him fabricated strength and bolstering his will to endure the pain. He didn’t need it to last forever – just long enough.

As he took his first step on his and Estel’s way to the Bruinen, the laegel asked of any merciful being who might take pity upon them, saying aloud, “Please. Just let me last until the river. Let me get him to the river.”

All of his hopes hinged upon giving the Ranger the chance to be found by Glorfindel and his retinue as soon as possible. He began walking; the Silvan concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. He did not waste energy to worry, grieve, or fear when Estel’s life was in danger. The Silvan kept tight hold upon the Ranger and shambled towards the Bruinen, the whole of his being focused upon only this task.

 _I need only to make it to the river,_ he repeated to himself.

Legolas was living on borrowed time. He knew this. What time he had left for himself, though, he would spend trying to save Estel.


	17. Chapter 17

The whole of Legolas’ consciousness was focused upon his feet.

Over the millennia that he had lived, the Wood-Elf’s appearance had changed little. He kept his hair at a similar length, for he cut it only when it became straggly or uneven or became long enough to hinder him in a fight; the features of his face were the exact same as when he had first reached his majority, though right now they were as gaunt and angular as they had ever been; and his body was as lean if not leaner than it had ever been before, but as an Elf, save for all the wounds he had incurred in the past few days, he bore no scars or permanent damage from his years of fighting. The Silvan’s feet were no exception.

As pale as the rest of him, Legolas’ feet were usually clean and his toenails neatly trimmed, with callouses upon his soles from where his boots rubbed – especially if he had been walking or running a great deal, as would happen if he were out with the twins or Ranger, or on patrol with his kith. Before taking off his boots in the pit, Legolas had walked in the rain for two days and the leather of his boots had rubbed against his heels and toes, which had given him several painful blisters that he might have felt now had not he had other, more grievous injuries to discomfort him. When he had been an Elfling, he had often run through Imladris and his father’s halls barefoot. Despite his love for cleanliness, Legolas loved to feel the dirt, leaves, and grass underfoot, and had never minded gathering with his soles the dust from the halls of Imladris or his home.

He had plenty of mud and leaves upon his feet right now. In fact, Legolas had dirt caked between his toes and under his toenails, slathered up the sides of his bare calves and ankles, and there were leaves and twigs stuck in this sludge, such that he could barely tell the difference between his feet and the ground under him. Only the barest hint of his pale skin showed that he had feet at all; it was upon these flashes of white that the Silvan focused. The whole of his being was engrossed in the effort to move that one swath of snowy flesh forward, and then move forward the other patch of white upon the other foot. Each step was a small victory for the dying Elf.

 _It can’t be much farther,_ he tried to encourage himself.

Unaware of how slowly he actually walked, Legolas felt as if he had been walking for days and long ago should already have arrived at the river. In truth, of course, he had only been walking throughout the afternoon and early evening; now, it was nearly the gloaming hour. He had also been mistakenly walking at an angle, rather than straight to the river, and so was unknowingly prolonging his journey though he was at least walking closer to Imladris rather than at an angle away from the vale and thus safety.

The Elf and Ranger had not been far from the Bruinen to start, but each moment seemed to drag on until the Prince was certain that he was lost, for it occurred to him that perhaps he had gotten turned around somehow, that he might be walking parallel to the river than actually to it. And yet, the Bruinen’s rushing floodwaters were growing ever louder, so he assumed that he was walking in the right general direction. In fear that he would be overcome by dizziness, the Elf did not once look up to determine if this was so, and thus kept his gaze downwards and ever on his stumbling feet.

The Ranger was groaning and shivering in fever and pain, the sounds of which were breaking Legolas’ heart, for he could do nothing to ease the man’s agony. Unable to carry the human in his arms since his weakened muscles from his injured chest might cause him to drop Estel, Legolas still had the Adan over his shoulder, where every slight movement jarred the Ranger’s wounded belly and thus aggravated what was already painful into something much more excruciating.

The Wood-Elf fared little better. Each breath Legolas fought to inhale caused a lacerating pain to shoot through his chest, while each crackling exhale burbled from his throat like death rattles. His wound no longer bled, or so he supposed since he could no longer feel it trickling down his torso, but it hurt no less for it. By keeping his head turned down to the ground to watch his lumbering feet, he was developing a crick in his neck, which only added insult to injury by compounding his perpetual discomfort. However, his hands were beginning to pain him even more than his neck or chest. While fighting with Mithfindl in the cave over the Noldo’s dagger, Legolas had sliced his fingers nearly to the bone in several places. Left mostly untreated and unwrapped, the closed and scabbed cuts were now wrenched open by his tight grip upon Estel’s legs, which also bounced against his bruised and aching torso with every step. Moreover, at some point, the sticks to which his two broken fingers had been splinted had broken themselves, such that his damaged digits were no longer set and secured into place but agonizingly free to move. Having forgotten that his fingers were broken, the Elf was using them along with his other fingers to keep his strict hold upon Estel.

Yes, for Legolas, his reality consisted of agony from his myriad injuries, his adamant need to make it to the river, and the consuming fear he felt for Estel – but still he focused only upon the sight of his feet squelching along the muddy forest floor.

“Greenleaf?”

Although the Elf heard his name being said, he staggered along for a moment until it registered that there was no one around save for Estel who could have said it.

“Greenleaf,” the human half-murmured and half-groaned. “Put me down. You ought not to be carrying me.”

 _He is awake,_ the Prince eagerly concluded, while hoping that he had not imagined this.

In the pit, while thinking he would die alone and in the dark and while intoxicated with the milk of the poppy, the laegel had hallucinated his lover’s presence when most he needed the encouragement to continue fighting for survival. If he was hallucinating now, though, it would break his mind, he knew. Legolas tried to decrease his pace to determine if the human was truly awake; yet, his body was even slower than his mind to react to the Ranger’s aggrieved whisper. Of more importance to him than finding out if the Ranger was awake was getting Estel to safety. The Elf knew that if he stopped, he might not be able to start walking again. Should Estel’s voice be a fictive illusion that his mind concocted to ease his faer’s passing, then it would eventuate in the real Ranger’s death, as well, for the Silvan might not be able to pick Estel up again and renew their trek to the Bruinen.

The unsteady Elf ambled onwards, though he told his Adan lover just in case he did not hallucinate the human, “I can go on for a while longer. Rest.”

But even were Aragorn capable of resting while being lugged around on the Prince’s shoulder, the Adan would not allow his damaged Elven lover to suffer through carrying him any longer. The Ranger struggled weakly to slide himself off the Prince’s shoulder and in the process accidentally struck the Silvan in his grievous chest wound, which caused the laegel to falter and his vision to go entirely dark with the acuteness of this amplified agony. He lost his grip upon Estel, stumbled, and began to fall – as the Elf lurched forward, the human found his footing and managed not to collapse upon Legolas, though he was unable to keep the Prince from tumbling to the ground. Aragorn staggered backwards while the Silvan landed upon his knees with a soft cry of abject misery.

“Ai Ilúvatar, Greenleaf, I am sorry,” the confused and feverish man groaned, his arm cradling his belly as he chided, “But you are too wounded to be carrying me. Are you alright?”

Even though he was now upon his knees, it felt to the Wood-Elf as though he were walking still, as though the world was still moving forward, and his upper body reeled onward right along with it. Immediately, the Adan tried to help his lover. Legolas caught himself with his hands before landing face down in the grass and dirt, but even his slight weight resting upon his mangled hands felt as if he had just driven a stake through each wrist and up his forearm. Once more, the Silvan found himself falling forwards and nearly onto his face, his consciousness almost absconding entirely. In a rapid effort, the Ranger tried with one hand to push Legolas back to sit him upright, while with his other Estel shoved at the tangled mess of the Prince’s hair to push it away so that he could see the laegel’s face.

“Greenleaf?” the worried Ranger prompted, trying to keep the Prince aware. Estel could no more carry Legolas than could Legolas carry Estel – at least, not anymore – so it was imperative that the Ranger keep the Elf conscious.

Unable to see the man in front of him, the Elf grabbed hold of the Adan’s shoulder for assurance that he was not deliriously imagining that the human was there. He blinked his eyes repeatedly as if by doing so he could free them of the darkness obscuring his vision. Now that he no longer had the heavy burden of the Ranger upon his shoulder, the laegel was able to breathe much easier, and finally, his vision seemed to clear. Oddly enough, Legolas found that the color seemed to have seeped out of the normally vibrant forest, such that the usually lustrous verdancy of the numerous trees and darker greenery of the various bushes were now etiolated. The Ranger – who had been dressed in dark clothing anyway – was even more achromatic than before, with the only show of color upon him the faint rubescence of the blood that smirched his flesh and clothing. Over the Silvan’s head, where previously he might have seen the brilliant cerulean of the mantle of sky hidden behind the hoary, perse thunderheads, he now saw as blanched, as if the obscuration of the sun was causing everything to fade. Indeed, it took him several moments of staring before he realized that Anor was soon to set, which was partially why everything around him was steadily growing darker.

Legolas was the one fading, however, and he knew that it would be soon. _Get Estel to the river,_ he ordered, arguing against his imminent death by berating himself, _You cannot give in yet. Wait until Estel is safe. Wait until he is found._

Aloud, though, he tried to explain to his lover, though his voice was barely audible, “We need to keep going. If they have not yet come this way, we can meet them at the river. I have to get you to the river.”

He did not need to explain who “they” were, for earlier, the Ranger had thought the same of trying to get Legolas to the river so that they could be found easily. Aragorn’s head was nodding but not merely in agreement; no, the human was nodding off to feverish sleep even as he crouched before the kneeling laegel. “I will walk,” the Adan offered, shaking his head rapidly to rouse himself. “At least until I am unable. Are you certain that you can walk, Greenleaf?”

The Elf was relieved to hear this as there was no chance that he would have been able to carry the human any longer, anyway, now that Aragorn was removed from his shoulder. In fact, he was worried that he might not even be able to stand. Fortuitously, when he tried to blunder into standing, the Ranger was able to offer a hand out to the Prince to aid him.

Now that he no longer watched his feet, the Silvan looked about him and determined that he had almost made it to the river while carrying Estel, for up ahead, through a clearing in the trees and bushes, he could see the telltale glint of light upon the water’s surface and knew then that they were within sight of the Bruinen’s shore. Without answering the Ranger’s question, the Elf began to walk once more. Almost immediately, the shattered Prince’s gait wavered; Legolas returned his gaze to his feet to focus upon placing one foot in front of the other.

 _Just a while longer,_ he promised himself.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas was reeling, his body tilting precariously one way and then the other. Placing a stabilizing hand upon the laegel’s shoulder, the Ranger tried to capture the Elf’s regard, but Legolas seemed only to be looking at the ground, as if he was too ashamed to look at the human, though Estel could not begin to imagine why this would be so.

“Greenleaf?” he said, still trying to garner the Elf’s attention. “We are close enough to see them should they pass this way. Let us stop to rest. Sit down and I will fetch you some water.”

The Elf would not look up for some reason, but he did respond, telling the Adan while he slowed down almost unto stopping, “No. If you can walk, then let us continue. Every step we take towards Imladris is that much sooner that your brothers or Glorfindel will find you.”

Without further discussion, Legolas began shambling more quickly, his gaze ever downward, which is when the human understood – the Elf was staring at the ground intently, watching each of his elegant but currently filthy feet as they took them that much closer to safety. Slipping his arm through the Silvan’s arm so that they could support each other, Aragorn slid one hand around the Prince’s waist, to which he held tight, while he then skimmed his free hand over his sweat and rain drenched face. He was still febrile and sick, but the sleep he had unwillingly been given, coupled with sharing the Elf’s warmth while over his shoulder, had done him some good, at least, in providing his body rest and helping to break his fever, though he felt immensely dizzy from having been slung head down over the Prince’s shoulder.

“How long have I been out?” he asked the laegel.

“It may have once been noon,” the Prince murmured in distraction. “But now the sun is gone,” the Elf said in bewilderment, which only served to bewilder Aragorn, as well as frighten him.

 _He is only exhausted and has lost too much blood,_ the human tried to assuage himself. _He has used every bit of strength he had to get me here so that I might be found. It is no wonder that he speaks so strangely._

Estel looked to the west to gauge the time of day. He thought that the splendor of Anor’s twilight refulgence was spread across the distant horizon as if it were layers of cinnamon butter, candied cherries, and slices of oranges, with the obscuring rainclouds dotting the sky like scattered mulberries. The sight of this and his thinking of how the sunset looked much like some extravagant dessert caused the Ranger’s belly to rumble in hunger. The last thing that he had tried to eat – Mithfindl’s jerky – he had retched up, which had been the painful cause of his losing consciousness. As hungry as he was, he did not think it wise to try to eat just yet. He wanted to be awake and aware to take care of Legolas, and so would not chance losing his consciousness should he retch again.

 _Greenleaf has been carrying me for hours. It must have been around midday when I passed out and now it is sunset,_ he concluded.

The human was in disbelief that the Elf had managed to lift him upon his shoulder, much less carry him for any length of time, but Legolas had lugged him all the way to the river. As they approached the Bruinen, the human then comprehended something else; they were much farther along the river and thus closer to the valley than the human had first assumed they would be. He then guessed correctly, _Greenleaf was rambling through the woods. He must have followed the sound of the Bruinen but he did not walk in a straight line. No wonder it took him all the day to get here. He walked at a slant._

Although they did not pause upon reaching the shore, Estel let go of the Elf’s waist so he could look up and down the watercourse. He wanted to ascertain at what part of the Bruinen at which they had arrived. _We are almost at the Ford,_ he realized with a start of surprise, which meant that the Prince had kept a relatively quick pace in his journey and likely had not stopped to rest once – all to make certain that his human lover was found by his kin and taken to safety. _His obstinacy has won out over his injury. I hope that he retains that stubbornness long enough for us to be found; else, he will never make it to the valley alive. It is all that keeps him alive._

In response to his thoughts, the Ranger grabbed a snug hold of the Elf’s waist once again. Before he had fallen insentient, he had thought that the Elf would not live to nightfall if he did not somehow find a way to halt the Silvan’s bleeding and find him aid of an herbal sort. Although he recalled giving Legolas the miruvor and knew that the cordial was likely one of the only reasons that the Prince had awoken and had been able to carry the Ranger, that the Silvan was still alive, aware, and able to move was shocking regardless. Soon, if it weren’t already starting to do so, the miruvor would wear off. The human could only pray that the laegel kept going after that.

Unknowingly, at the thought of the Prince’s flagging will to live, the Adan’s grip upon Legolas’ waist tensed even more so, until the Elf grunted in pain and the human realized that he was hurting his lover. He loosened his hold but would not let go entirely.

Aragorn could not fathom the depths of the Elf’s determination. Not only had Legolas roused from unconsciousness – which was a feat in itself – but he had also withstood the agony of his injury to do what he could to keep Estel safe and ensure that the Adan would be found. Aragorn knew that if it had just been Legolas’ life in the balance – that is, if Estel had not been there, injured and his body failing to fever – then the Prince would have lain down to die. Between his latent sorrow that would soon manifest and the overwhelming severity of his wounds, the Elf could not be blamed for wishing for the relief of death. However, Estel did not need to be told to know that the laegel would never willingly give up his faer to Mandos with the Ranger’s life in danger.

Aragorn wiped his free hand over his face again. Though his skin was still hot with fever, it did not feel as intense as it had earlier that day. _Perhaps pulling the wound open during my fight with Mithfindl and thus releasing the suppuration within it has helped lessen the infection,_ he considered, comparing his healing wound to a festering boil, which sometimes needed lancing to heal safely. _I should have been looking for herbs as we walked._ Thinking that he could do so now, the Ranger took to scanning the ground around them for anything that might be of use to him or Legolas.

His attention was soon pulled away from this task when he noticed that the Wood-Elf was mumbling or humming – the human could not tell which it was. The Silvan’s normally melodious voice was currently cracked, off tune, and whispery. _He is near to collapse,_ the human worried.

With his arm still wound within the Elf’s arm, Aragorn tried to tug the Silvan to a halt. He succeeded easily enough, but nearly caused the Wood-Elf to spill to the ground. It was only his hold of Legolas’ waist that kept the Prince from plunging to the grassy bank of the Bruinen. With as much strength as he could muster, Legolas was trying to heave his arm free from the human’s hold, while Estel pled with him, “Let us stop, please, Greenleaf. You need to rest. You have carried me a great distance,” he tried to explain to the Elf, saying, “We are almost to the Ford. Walking any farther will only tire the both of us and does little to save time in our being found. You should save your strength.”

“If I stop, I will die, Estel,” the laegel replied matter of factly, still vainly trying to jerk his arm free of Aragorn’s arm. “And I do not want to die until you are in your brothers’ or father’s care… or if nothing else, at least on a horse on your way home to be in their care. Let go, please.”

The human’s eyes welled with tears but he did as he was bid so that the Elf could shamble onwards. Legolas did not speak as if he wished to die; he spoke as if his death was already foretold. _And it may already be determined. There may be no way to keep it from happening._ Although he had been unconscious through the whole afternoon, the Ranger was no less tired for it and would have been content to stop to rest. However, since Legolas wanted to continue, the human would happily oblige him. _I will walk with him all the way into the courtyard if walking is what keeps him alive._

“Then we go on, Greenleaf,” he replied, trying to infuse his voice with optimism. “And when the twins, Glorfindel, your father, or whoever is coming for us finds us, we will walk right past them and ask why they took so long.”

Legolas finally looked up from his feet and to Estel, giving him a faint grin that lit up his battered, bloodied face. So beautiful, so honest, innocent, and normal was this weak smile that the Ranger’s eyes welled with tears again at the sight. His foot sliding as the Silvan accidentally walked too close to the muddier and more slippery bank of the river, Legolas stayed upright with Estel’s quickly offered help, while his grin grew and he chuckled, his florid lips curled into an outright smirk and his endearing dimples became visible, though they showed too prominently in his emaciated face. With his eyes sparkling in gaiety that might have been out of place considering their dire circumstances – but was most welcome by the human, who would rather the Silvan find illusory humor in their situation than sustain its depressing reality – the Elf teased back, “They would never let us walk past them. They would tackle us to the ground, tie us to their horses, and ride posthaste to Rivendell, fussing all the while.”

The Adan laughed along with his Elven lover until Legolas began to cough; blood and spittle flew from the laegel's mouth with each painful, hacking breath Legolas took. He spied the waterskin tied to the Silvan’s belt; as they ambled, he untied it and then uncorked it, only to find that it was empty. And so, with one eye upon the Wood-Elf, who did not pause in the slightest when Estel stopped, the human took the waterskin and crouched next to the swollen Bruinen. As quickly as he could, for he wanted to remain by the Silvan’s side, Aragorn filled the empty skin, drained it in one gulp, and then refilled it again.

In several long strides, he caught up to Legolas and passed him the uncorked skin, telling him, “Drink, Greenleaf.”

Obediently, Legolas sipped the cool river water before passing it back to Estel. The Ranger corked the skin and then retied it to the Prince’s belt. He would have tied it to his own but only just noticed that his belt, his broadsword, and his bow and arrows were all missing. He did not ask why, since he could imagine that the Wood-Elf would not have been able to carry all their weapons along with Estel. Still, now that he noted that he wore no weapons, the Ranger felt uncomfortable without one and thought of asking Legolas to carry his long knife, thinking, _Greenleaf is likely too weak to fight, should we encounter trouble along our way._ However, as long as he kept the Elf at his side, then he could access the weapon if they had need. Aragorn did not want to tell the proud Silvan that he was too injured to fight, true though it was.

In companionable silence, the pair made their way, following the ofttimes-winding Bruinen while the sun set behind them, the rain drizzling onto their already drenched clothes and hair. The human fought to keep his eyes open and his mind upon the Wood-Elf. Legolas was humming again. Had he been able to discern what melody that the Prince tried to sing, the Adan would have joined him, for perhaps it would have encouraged the Elf. The Firstborn took to song for most any reason – if melancholy, if joyous, to celebrate the night, to welcome the morning, to give thanks for a feast, to pray against famine, to stave off pain, to aid in healing, in laughter and in tears – whatever reason, for any reason, the Elves loved to sing. Unable to listen to the Prince’s rattling humming any longer, the Adan decided, _If he wants song, then I will sing for him. I cannot listen to him any longer. He sounds as if every breath might be his last._

Many years ago, upon the very first day that the human had met the Wood-Elf, Estel had hid behind the door of his bedroom and listened to Legolas singing while bathing across the hall in his own rooms. He had barely known the Prince, having just met him, but already the human had been intrigued by Legolas. At the time, the song the Silvan had sung while bathing was not one the likes of which the young Adan had ever heard before. It had been a tale of blood and battle, with Orcs and spiders, with gleaming armor and flying arrows. The melody was much like a berceuse sung to a child to put her to sleep, but the words harkened to the rousing exploits of heroic Silvan who offered their lives to keep their kin safe. In Mirkwood, such songs were often sung to put Elflings to sleep, for in the tainted Greenwood, death, destruction, and heartbreak felt as loved ones were lost to the ever-waged battle in the plagued forest were lessons learnt at an early age.

During that long summer of Legolas’ stay in the valley, the human had learnt every word to that song. Elrond had not been pleased when he heard his ten-year-old Adan foster son singing it, and had not been keen to think that someone had intentionally taught the human such a violent song full of imagery that was too vicious for such a young child. Thinking of this now, the Ranger beamed at the memory of his Ada chastising the twins for teaching it to him. Elladan and Elrohir had taken that lecture with good grace and never once told their father that Legolas was the one to have taught it to Estel. The Prince had learnt it as a child and had never thought twice about teaching it to Estel; he might have been surprised to know that Elrond was angered over it.

The recollection made the Ranger wonder, _Has Greenleaf ever learnt of how angry his Minyatar was to hear me singing that song?_

Estel walked closer to the Elf, slid his arm once more through the Prince’s and gently grabbed the opposite side of Legolas’ waist. In response, the Elf twisted his limb through the Adan’s limb. As the Adan began to sing, Legolas stopped his broken humming so that he could listen, instead. The dazed and pained expression upon the Prince’s face gave way to a thoughtful, grateful smile, which he often turned to Estel as the Ranger’s pleasant baritone carried over the sound of the whipping wind, the patter of the rain, the rustling of the boughs of the trees overhead, and the rushing river.

For several hours more, the Ranger sang. When he finished the song, he merely began it again. When his voice grew tired and his throat became dry, he did not stop, not even to take a drink of water, although twice he made the Elf drink. When he sang a stanza in the wrong order or in his tired state forgot the words, he picked up in a different part of the song and neither he nor the Prince cared. For as long as the Elf kept walking, the Ranger would keep singing. If walking was what kept the Prince alive, then Aragorn was prepared to do whatever it took to keep him walking, even if it meant singing the whole night through to distract the laegel from his failing body and the eventual return of his sorrow.

The lighthearted, guiltless smile upon his lover’s face was all that mattered to him.

And so, they walked, anticipating that each step they took might bring them closer to salvation and both of them hopeful to be found before the other gave in to injury, exhaustion, or death.


	18. Chapter 18

As the night wore on, the Elf and Ranger’s pace slowed to what might have been a crawl, had not they somehow managed to remain upright and on their feet. It was nearing daybreak; in a couple of hours, the sun would rise, at least. The insistent, cursed rain had picked up once again into lashing sheets accompanied by teeth rattling claps of thunder, such that Estel could see no more than several yards in front of him. That Ithil was absent from the night sky only made the way even darker.

As he walked, Legolas remained in reverie. The Ranger did not try to stop him from walking, nor did he attempt to wake him, though it was worrisome to him that the Prince was unwilling to quit their rambling. Something – a worry deeply ensconced inside his mind, an idea that his focus would light upon before he forced it away – told him that Legolas was using the last of reserves in his effort to get Estel to the valley before he gave in to Mandos’ call to release his faer. In the clearing, after killing Mithfindl, Legolas had told the Ranger that he wished to live, that he wanted to go into the wilds with Aragorn. The Adan had no reason to believe that the Elf’s mind had changed about desiring to endure, but knowing Legolas as he did, Estel was certain that the Silvan was only alive because he wanted to ensure Estel’s survival. It was all that kept the Elf from being overcome by his wounds and grief.

The Adan would have felt better had the laegel been resting while awaiting their rescuers’ arrival, but if his ambition to get Aragorn to Imladris was the motivation for Legolas’ continuance, then for as long as Estel was able, he would let the Prince find rest as they ambled their way along the watercourse’s bank, keeping his hand and eye upon the Wood-Elf to be certain that neither of them walked too close to the rushing Bruinen. But now, Estel was no longer able to go on. After spending almost all of the night walking, the human found that he was past the point of exhaustion and might black out should they not stop.

_We are nearing the Ford, I am certain of it. Once there, Ada will know our whereabouts whether Gwindor and Kalin made it to the valley or not. I can convince Greenleaf to stop then._

During the course of this long night, the human had repeatedly fought the fear that Kalin and Gwindor had not made it to Imladris, that the sentry had been forced to turn back because of the weather or a lame horse, or that on the way Kalin had died and Gwindor had not deemed it necessary to continue to pass on the information given to him – or at least, not in as timely a fashion as would be most beneficial to Legolas and Estel. No matter how torrential the river’s water upon their arrival, the Imladrian and Silvan sentries would have had no trouble in crossing the Bruinen, at any rate, for the Ford was within Elrond’s purview and thus under his control by use of vilya and his own magic.

Likewise, even should none in the valley have received word of Estel’s intention to bring the Prince back along the river, should he have found him, it would not matter once the Elf and Ranger reached the Ford, for they would be within the reaches of the regular patrol around the outlying borders of Imladris and in an area where there was common traffic. Someone would be bound to see them if they were not soon found by whoever might have been sent to aid them in their return. Moreover, the Ranger considered that his foster father might be using his magic to seek out the presence inside his realm of his human foster son and the Silvan whom he considered a son. If through his magic Elrond was able to glean that Estel and Legolas were close, then the Peredhel would have the patrol out searching for them at once.

All through the night, these thoughts had run through the Ranger’s head. Panic over Legolas’ shortening life had overwhelmed the Ranger continually, especially once the Wood-Elf had fallen into Elven reverie and no longer responded to the Adan’s singing or touch; each time his mind was lit by this comburent dread for Legolas’ well-being, Estel’s belabored heart would begin to beat perilously fast before he quashed it by revisiting the reassuring thoughts about how they needed only to get to the Ford. In fact, so focused was he upon reaching the Ford with the half-sentient, vapid Wood-Elf on his arm that once within view of the crossing it took him several minutes and nearly walking upon the actual Ford before he realized they had arrived.

 _Thank you, Eru,_ the earnest Adan prayed in utter relief once he saw through the battering rain the familiar landmarks of the river’s crossing. He had no true reason to think that they would both be found soon, but they would be found eventually now that they were at the Ford; he could use this certainty to try to convince the Elf to quit walking. _Please,_ he went on to plead, _please, do not let Greenleaf’s faer fade just because we stop. If I walk any longer, I will likely drop from exhaustion and Greenleaf will end up trying to carry me again, I know it._

Plainly had the Prince told the Ranger that walking was all that kept him alive, but both Elf and Adan needed to stop to recoup their strength. Although Aragorn had told himself that he would walk all the way into the courtyard of the Last Homely House should that be what kept Legolas’ faer planted firmly in his rhaw, in truth, he knew that if the Elf did not soon take rest, his body would fail suddenly and completely, just as would the human’s body. Estel was astounded that it had not already. He might have believed that the miruvor or remnants of the poppy tincture were keeping the Prince going but he thought that the cordial and medicines should have already worn off by now. No, only the Elf’s love for him kept Legolas going. Only Legolas’ desire to keep safe the Ranger whom he loved more than his own life made the Prince so willing to forfeit any chance for his survival.

“Greenleaf,” he whispered gently to pull the Elf from his reverie without startling him. With a tug upon the arm looped with his own limb, Aragorn said a bit more loudly, “Greenleaf.”

Having grown up amongst Elf-kind, the Ranger was habituated to the way in which the Firstborn regularly took their repose. Although they might sleep just as did other creatures – especially when injured, or after long bouts without regular sleep or strenuous activity – the Firstborn’s manner of sleeping tended to letting their minds wander in dreams and memories while their bodies were able to perform simple tasks, such as walking or riding a horse, while typically remaining cognizant enough to be aware of danger. During this Elven reverie, the Firstborn sometimes had their eyes open or half-lidded. Estel, who had seen more Elves asleep than most men now alive had seen Elves, the Adan could tell by the vacant, unfocused, dull blue orbs of his lover that the Prince was not yet pulled from his reverie. Had not the laegel been walking, had the Elf been lying upon the ground, his lifeless eyes might have been mistaken for those of one dead, so empty were they.

Since the Prince had spent the last several months recuperating from the traumatic grief of being repeatedly abused, tortured, tied, and despoilt, and because his body had needed the extra time and attention to heal, Legolas had spent every night in the valley sleeping as did the rest of Ilúvatar’s creatures save the Elves. Indeed, even had he not been recuperating from his ordeals, Legolas loved to lie abed with Estel and sleep as did the human because he wanted to be close to the Ranger, even in slumber, and to share the man’s patterns for sleeping, eating, and exercise to spend as much time with Aragorn as he could. Legolas likely would have spent every night with his Adan lover even had he not needed the extra rest for his rhaw and faer to heal. The laegel needed the rest right now, the human could see, but the Ranger needed it, also, and he could not sleep while walking, as could Legolas.

“Greenleaf,” he tried again, this time speaking forcefully, as if he were about to lecture the laegel, and unwittingly sounding just like Thranduil might should it have been the Elvenking trying to waken the Silvan Prince. Normally, the Elf would have roused from his reverie with just the saying of his name; that he did not showed just how disoriented and fatigued Legolas truly was.

At hearing the Ranger’s harsh and demanding tone, which in fact did sound to Legolas like his father’s voice, the Prince’s cerulean orbs slid shut before they reopened to land unerringly upon the human’s silver ones, his somnolent gaze clear of reverie but laden with agony and enervation, yet which also held the inimitable fortitude the likes of which Estel had often seen before in the determined eyes of soldiers headed to a battle through which they knew they had no chance of surviving.

“What is wrong?” the laegel asked immediately, though his voice cracked midsentence and he began to cough bloody spittle once these three meager words were out of his mouth.

For the first time since they had started this trek along the Bruinen’s shore, the Wood-Elf stopped walking entirely at the human’s tender insistence. In absentminded devotion, Estel used the back of his hand to wipe free the pink, frothy spit that was gathered on Legolas’ chin and the corner of his mouth, before wiping this on his trousers’ leg. Estel wasn’t sure if the Elf’s lung was pierced by the arrow, by fragments of his broken rib, if the bone dust and debris from the pit in which Legolas had been trapped was irritating the laegel’s throat, or if damage had been done to his windpipe from being throttled repeatedly, but the blood that the Wood-Elf continually coughed out exacerbated the man’s already intense fear for his Elven lover.

“Nothing is wrong, Greenleaf. I have good news. We have reached the Ford,” he told his lover, giving the Silvan a cheerful smile that was reflexively returned in a ghostly facsimile by the Prince. Perhaps the Elf already knew how their having reached the Ford was a boon, but the Adan explained anyway, “We can rest. We are sure to be found here by someone even if not by who we expect.”

Now that he was no longer moving forward, the rickety Silvan was swaying in an irregular pattern. When the Elf’s body lurched forward, his knees apparently trying to give out from under him, the Ranger instinctively tried to catch the Prince before he fell, but the effort extracted a pained, sharp yelp from him as his belly’s wound was pulled. Hearing his lover’s agonized, soft cry, Legolas steadied himself and ended up helping the Adan instead by grabbing hold of the human’s arms when it seemed that Estel would double over and then fall onto his knees. 

 _Breathe,_ he instructed himself. Although his fever was diminished and his wound was no longer running suppuration or much blood, it hurt – oh, by the grace of the Valar did it hurt. He lost track of everything but his effort not to black out, telling himself as he inhaled each hard fought breath, _Just breathe, you fool. I have to stay aware. Legolas will walk on with me slung over his shoulder again if I don’t convince him to rest and wait to be found._

“You need to sit.” Without consulting the human, Legolas tried to lead the Ranger to the demarcation of trees that began the forest on their side of the Loudwater. Estel shook his head, though he was glad that the Prince suggested for him to sit because it meant that the laegel was willing to stop their reckless journey towards the vale.

“Not yet. Let me look around first.” By dint of sheer will, the Ranger stood upright once again and gave the Wood-Elf another smile, which was undermined by the greyness of his face, for the pain had yet to abate.

However, Legolas nodded his agreement and did not argue, and arm in arm they shambled to the crossing proper so that the Ranger could check for tracks. In this weather and since the Bruinen was dangerously flooded, few would try to cross the Ford lest they were certain that Elrond’s sway could lessen the current of the water, which meant that none but friendly beings would try, lest they risked drowning. The rain worked both for and against the human – the muddy bank was susceptible to footprints but the constant rain softened them and made it harder to tell when they had been made.

 _Here we are,_ the Ranger thought as he saw for what he’d been hoping. _These were made some time yesterday, I believe._ Someone had crossed the Ford on horseback, the Ranger could tell, for there was a distinct line of shoed horse prints leading out of the Bruinen. He let loose the Prince’s arm to bend down to inspect the tracks, one arm across his aching belly all the while. By the depth of the prints and gauging the consistency of the mud, the seasoned Ranger concluded that two had been riding the horse that had crossed. Estel felt his heart race at this discovery, for he concluded, _surely this was Kalin and Gwindor; they have made it to Imladris. Even if they were slowed down, they should already have arrived and help will be on its way by now. It is only a matter of hours._

“We are saved,” he murmured to his Elven lover, using the Prince’s offered arm to return to standing. More loudly, he repeated, “We are saved, Greenleaf. Let us stop here to wait for them. If we wander any farther, we might miss them. They will have to come this way, so they will find us.”

Legolas was looking off across the Ford and into the distance, and though the Wood-Elf nodded, he seemed strangely disheartened to hear Estel’s news. It took the Adan a moment but he soon realized, _He thinks if we stop walking, he will die, and I have just told him to stop. He now sees his end upon him._

“Greenleaf.” Estel looped his arm through the Elf’s arm and began ambling towards the trees close to the shore. “I am sorry, but I cannot walk any longer. I am afraid that I will collapse.”

“Then you need to rest.” Choosing a thickly trunked birch, Legolas led the Ranger to the tree, helped the human to lean against the trunk, and then to slide down it into sitting, since the Elf could not lower the man to the ground without causing agony for himself. “You are right. Your brothers will be here soon for you. You will be safe. You can go home.”

Legolas stood before Estel, looking down at him while the Ranger looked up. The Silvan’s loving smile lingered over the man’s face, his eyes wandering across every feature of Aragorn’s visage, which the human felt as if the Elf were running his fingertips over his skin. His Greenleaf smiled in honest affection, but latent under the Prince’s melancholy was an unspoken farewell. It was clear to the Ranger that the Silvan expected that he would die, now that he was no longer needed. And yet, Legolas made no argument for continuing because he wanted Aragorn to have his rest.

 _If keeping me safe is what keeps him alive, then I will only have to give him new cause for living for now – at least until we are found,_ the Ranger decided. It pained him to deceive the Elf in any way, but truly, he was not lying. He was merely fabricating a task to keep the Prince’s mind engaged. Aragorn honestly could not stay awake much longer, no matter how much he wished to be conscious to keep Legolas occupied. He needed to know that while he slept, the Silvan would not just give in and die.

As if his body and mind were already growing slack with his imminent death, the Wood-Elf’s eyes and face were becoming vacant again, though it was not reverie that would soon overtake him. Estel reached out towards the Elf to take Legolas’ hand. “Do you think that you can stay awake for a while to keep watch, so that they do not pass us somehow? If I sleep, I may not waken should they pass by, nor might you if you fall asleep with me, and then our chance for a free ride to the valley would be lost,” he jested lightly. “And if you can remain awake, then you can explain to them what is wrong with me, in case I do not waken.”

At once, Legolas’ brow furrowed in concentration, while some of the inanition left his eyes such that they focused upon the human once again. With some difficulty, he dropped to his knees before the Ranger. “Of course,” the Elf told his human lover, his flagging determination beginning to renew at hearing that the Ranger needed him still. “Rest, Estel. I promise you – I will keep watch for them and over you.”

There was little chance that their rescuers would miss them where they sat, for they would have to come by this way as they followed the Bruinen. They were also under the protection of the valley, so had nothing to fear from vagrants or animals. As well, the twins would know immediately what had befallen Estel and did not truly need Legolas to tell them that the man was febrile. How the Silvan was still awake – or alive, for that matter – was miraculous to the Ranger. Whatever he could do to continue the Elf’s life, even if it was accomplished by falsehood, he would do. One thing about which he had not lied, though, was that he was shattered. He could go on no more.

The Ranger closed his eyes and tried to lay his head back against the tree trunk but found himself abruptly pulled forward. Legolas had hold of him. Too weary to argue or wonder what the Elf did, the human allowed the Prince to shift him this way and that. The Silvan sat with his own back against the tree’s trunk before he gently pushed the human down onto his side, such that the man was lying between Legolas’ legs, his head tucked snugly in the Elf’s groin. Happy to be so close to his lover, to share his warmth, and unable to stay awake any longer, the Ranger wound his arm around one of the Elf’s bare thighs before he laid his cheek down upon it and closed his eyes.

“Thank you, Greenleaf,” he mumbled to the Prince.

“Hush, Estel. Sleep. I will be here when you waken.” Legolas began running his fingers through the man’s soaked hair, over his cheeks, and along his whiskered jawline.

 _And thank you, Eru. Please let him be able to keep this promise. Please let him be here – alive – when I rise._ With that prayer repeating in his mind, the abjectly worn out Ranger slipped into a sleep from which he would not soon wake. 


	19. Chapter 19

The sun was on the rise; the brightness of Anor was chasing away the dim brilliancy of the stars. For the first time in almost a week, the rain had stopped completely, with nary a drop falling from above save for what dribbled off the boughs of the trees overhead. This beautiful, late summer morning, white, fluffy clouds were strewn across the bright blue sky, rather than the dark, ominous, thunderous clouds that had hidden Anor over the last week. The wind had died down into a gentle breeze. The unseasonably peculiar cold – caused by the incessant damp and lack of sun – was warming into muggy balminess. The Wood-Elf enjoyed every moment of the sunrise. If today was to be his last day alive, as he feared that it might, then he was glad, at least, that it had stopped raining. More importantly, the laegel was glad that he had been allowed this time in the woods to watch the splendor of Arda. Over the course of his long life, the laegel had grown to fear most that he might die in a dungeon, in a pit or hole in the ground, or like his father’s father had died, in a forsaken, lifeless land where there were no trees, no animals but those of Morgoth’s making, and no hope.

But Legolas had the sun, he had the forest, and he had Estel with him. All in all, it could be a fine way to die; and yet, Legolas had given his word to the Ranger to keep watch. The Prince was an Elf of his word. Much though he longed to let these moments of peace and simple pleasure be the end of him, he had to wait for Estel to wake or for the Ranger’s rescuers to come. Once Glorfindel, the twins, or whoever arrived, it would be too late to die with Estel in his arms, for they would snatch him away for healing and ply the Wood-Elf with their care, as well. Still, he would hold to the memory of this last sunrise during his final moments, if need be. The most that he could hope for now was that once they were found he might pass before reaching the valley. He had no wish to die in a bed, surrounded by healers and stone walls.

Birds, bugs, and wildlife that had been dormant or inaudible because of the thunderstorms were now flitting, flying, and scurrying around the lush forest. The Silvan Prince watched a ground squirrel digging through the leaves and grass under an oak tree, likely in search of acorns. When the creature’s head popped back up from the debris in which he looked, the animal had a crumpled leaf atop his head that stood up oddly.

 _It looks like he’s wearing a pointed hat,_ the half-delirious Wood-Elf thought, chuckling at this imagery. Hearing Legolas’ amusement, the squirrel’s tiny head swiveled around to face the Elf, his black eyes gauging whether the Silvan’s chuckle portended danger. With the pale leaf still atop his head, his bushy grey fur, and a twig in his minute paw, the squirrel looked like a tiny, disgruntled wizard, complete with walking stick and hat. Although he was thoroughly enjoying watching the animal and did not want to run it off, Legolas was unable to keep himself from laughing out loud, as he thought, _I wonder what Mithrandir would say if I told him I saw a squirrel that looked just like him!_

In a huff, the creature took off at a run, tossing aside his twig and losing his leaf in the process, and then disappeared into a gap between two exposed roots of a nearby tree, where the creature likely had his burrow. Chuckling at the animal’s quick escape, Legolas looked back down to his Adan lover, wishing that the human had seen the squirrel’s antics so that they could laugh together.

Upon his side on the muddy ground, his arm still wrapped around and his cheek resting upon the muscled, smooth flesh of the Elf’s bare thigh, laid Estel. Unlike earlier, when the man’s skin had vacillated between the pink tinge of fever and the grey pall of sickness, Estel now seemed the color of brewed tea, which was his natural color during the summer months. The Ranger did not often snore, but so tired, so deeply asleep, and in such an awkward position was Aragorn that his every inhale through his nose came as a snuffling wheeze.

Aragorn’s nude chest was smirched in mud and though the wound to his belly was somewhat clean, it was uncovered. For bandaging for the Elf’s chest, the man had removed his tunic the day previous in the small clearing in which the Wood-Elf had slain Mithfindl. Legolas had not thought to bring the remnants of it with them but now wished that he had done so since they had nothing to use for bandaging, lest the Elf remove the shirt he wore and sit here entirely nude. However, the Prince’s borrowed shirt was already sticky with blood and filthy with dirt, as well, such that it would be of little use.

 _I hope that the twins come. Or Elrond himself,_ he thought wishfully, eager for Estel to be in the hands of a healer. _I hope most of all that they come soon. I do not know for how much longer I can stay conscious._

Even as he pondered on whether he would soon pass out, the Wood-Elf’s head nodded as he fought to stay aware. Estel had been asleep for a few hours; the man had not moved much, except to adjust his head when it had begun to slip from the Elf’s thigh. The exact spot of the Silvan’s flesh upon which the Adan now rested had been the area that the scar had once been scored upon Legolas’ body – the painful memoir written by a branch and then by his own fool hands to tell the story of his agony and the sorrow from his tragedies.

To try to distract himself from the comforting pull of insentience, the laegel took to stroking Aragorn’s hair and face once more. He loved this human more than he had ever loved another being in the whole of his life; he loved Estel in a way that he had never loved before. Certainly, Legolas loved his father, his Minyatar, the twins. He loved Kalin and his other friends in the Greenwood. He loved and cherished the memory of his mother. But out of all of these people, he loved Aragorn the most. He had shared more of himself – both emotionally and physically – with Estel than he had ever shared with anyone before. Generally, the Firstborn were not wont to love but once in their long lifetimes. Should an Elf’s mate die or sail or otherwise be separated from him, he would not usually find another. Amongst those Elves who found love outside of their own kind, even the death of a mortal mate would preclude loving another. Legolas would be no different, he knew. If Estel were the one dying right now, rather than the Wood-Elf, the laegel would lie down to die next to the human. The Prince had thought that if he lived long enough to see the end of the man’s days that he would release his faer the moment that Aragorn was gone.

Now, the human was sure to live while the Elf felt sure to die. He could only find comfort in knowing that unlike himself, the Adan could persist after the Prince’s death.

Fondly, he traced the Ranger’s jawline for the umpteenth time in the past few hours. Legolas was no fool. He was not competent in practicing artifice because he did not believe in being a liar, but he had been lied to often enough in his many years that he typically found it easy to spot falsity. He knew that they were safe where they sat, that the twins did not need him to diagnose the Ranger’s illness, nor that there was any chance of their not being spotted where they sat when their rescuers came this way. He knew that Aragorn was tasking him with remaining sentient in the hopes of keeping him alive. Had the Ranger been at all capable of continuing or staying awake, then he would have walked on with Legolas to aid the Prince’s survival. Estel may have misled the laegel, but the Elf could understand why. It did not change his intention to keep his promise to the Adan to watch over him, anyway.

His chest felt tight. The air he managed to pull in came in short, shallow gasps. He did not know if his ribs were broken or his lung punctured by the arrow, but either way and though it bled only a little now, the effect the wound was having upon his ability to breathe was getting worse. Perhaps it was the lack of sufficient air or his faer’s insistence on dredging up every sorrowful memory from the past several months, but the longer he sat there, the worse his vision became. Whereas earlier everything had appeared colorless and insipid, and still did, it also seemed now that he was looking through two holes cut in a fence board, for he could no longer see anything in the periphery of his vision. 

Using the tip of one of his broken fingers, which was turning a sickeningly puce, Legolas traced the dark hair of the Ranger’s eyebrows. _I have to stay awake for him. If I sleep, I will fade ere he is found. I must persevere until then._ It was with this thought in mind and his hand upon the human’s forehead that the Elf slipped away, wholly incognizant of doing so. Luckily, he had no chance to fall into a deep sleep, or worse yet, a permanent sleep, for their rescuers were very close by, though he was unaware of this.

In fact, Legolas had no more than closed his eyes before they arrived. He would have liked to say that he awoke at the approaching sound of the pounding hooves, the whistles of the Imladrian sentries who were signaling to each other their location and findings, or even the twins’ attempts to get his attention, but it all seemed like a dream to him. In the end – though he heard all of this racket and Elladan and Elrohir’s excited, worried voices more so than the rest – it was the removal of Estel’s head from atop his thigh that roused the Wood-Elf from his quickly deepening sleep. The instant that the human’s warmth went missing from his leg, Legolas woke with a violent start, his head snapped up and his hand flew to the hilt of his long knife, which was lying on the ground next to him. He looked around him at the faces of half a dozen Elves, none of whom he could name just now – not even the two identical ones who were speaking to him, though he could not understand their words.

 _I was nearly asleep,_ he chastised himself, thinking, _Had I fallen asleep, I would not have woken ever again. Unless I am asleep right now… or hallucinating._ The Silvan Elf shut his eyes and squeezed his lids tightly closed, as if trying to block out the sight of the Eldar around him, but truly, he was trying to clear his mind. When the laegel had left Imladris, he had thought never to see Elladan and Elrohir again, or his Minyatar, father, sentries, or the valley itself. To have them here now, answering his prayers for Estel to have a healer attend him, made the Wood-Elf doubt whether they were real. After all, when faced with his imminent death in the pit in the cave, the Silvan had hallucinated Estel, hadn’t he? _Let this not be a delusion._

“Peace, Greenleaf. Be at peace, your brothers are here,” Elrohir’s warm, soothing, and familiar voice spoke to him. “And we’ve found both of our errant brothers, and not too late, though we feared we might be!”

When Legolas opened his eyes again, there was only one twin before him. Holding the Noldo’s gaze as if by looking away Elrohir might disappear like the details of a dream upon waking, the Prince reached for Estel, for it was foremost on his mind for the twins to see to their human brother before they bothered with questions or reassurances, and certainly, before they tried to tend him in any way. When his questing hand could not find the Ranger’s body, the last vestiges of slumber and the fear that he was delusional abruptly fled the laegel. He tried to move into a crouch so that he could find the Ranger. Although he was surrounded by friends now, his fear for Estel was not yet assuaged and his weary mind still held the imperative to protect the human at all costs, despite that the twins were there to do that now.

“Estel?” he croaked out harshly, even as he saw that Elladan was carrying the Adan a short distance away where he could lay the man out on a bedroll upon the ground and not get in the way of Elrohir’s tending to Legolas.

Again, the younger twin repeated to the laegel, “Peace, Greenleaf. Elladan has Estel. Just sit back and let me see to you.”

“I am fine, Elrohir, although tired. See to Estel.” Despite that Elrohir tried to constrain him into remaining seated, the Wood-Elf crawled to his knees anyway and then reached out to Elrohir to use his shoulder so that he could stumble to his feet. “He is feverish. The wound on his stomach is infected,” he told the twins, although Elladan was already prodding at the inflamed flesh of the Adan’s belly. “I could have chosen a cleaner knife to try to kill him with, I think,” he said distractedly, unaware of the oddity of his statement.

At this and in surprise, Elladan and Elrohir snickered, thinking that the laegel was making some dark joke. This, coupled with the Silvan’s ability to stand, lessened the fear they had felt for him at first seeing his battered appearance; thus, Elrohir did not argue with Legolas to sit when the Prince chose to shamble to Aragorn to stand beside where Elladan was inspecting the Adan’s infected wound. Instead, the younger twin knelt down next to his elder brother to see for himself the severity of their human sibling’s injury.

They were found, which the Prince hoped meant that Kalin and the Imladrian guard who had taken him to Elrond for his expertise had arrived safely. Legolas asked, “Kalin? He made it to the valley? Is he alive?”

Elladan and Elrohir shared a very brief look between them – one of their typically incomprehensible gazes that they used instead of speaking aloud. “He was unconscious when he arrived. He lost a great deal of blood, Greenleaf,” the elder twin gently began explaining to the Prince.

Feeling as if they would tell him that his sentry was dead, the Wood-Elf staggered back as the weight of responsibility for Kalin’s death was added to his already burdened mind. A hand upon his back – Glorfindel’s hand, though Legolas did not turn to see it – kept him from tumbling backwards onto the ground.

“Greenleaf,” the younger twin quickly assuaged the fraught Prince by telling him, “Kalin lives. When we left, he had only just woken enough to drink water and broth. I do not know how he fares now, but the first thing he asked was where you were and if you were well, and he was able to tell us what he knew, so the blood loss did not ruin his mind.”

 _Thank Eru._ Although Legolas had debated with Estel about whether he ought to feel guilty for the sentry’s condition, arguing that Kalin had made the choice to stay behind while his Prince went on to find Mithfindl, the laegel had felt very remorseful over it and had been very worried for Kalin’s well-being. “He will heal? He will be well?” he asked them.

“He will be well… but are you sure you are well?” the elder twin asked, for now that the Prince was standing, Elladan could see more clearly the cruor staining the front of the laegel’s borrowed shirt. “Are you bleeding?”

 _I will likely not live to make it to the vale to apologize to Kalin, but at least Estel is found, and Estel can speak to Kalin for me,_ the Wood-Elf considered with a great deal of relief, for his impetus in surviving over the course of yesterday’s afternoon and this past night was to get the Adan to his family. He had done that, now. The miruvor he’d been given by Estel was long since gone, the rest he had found while watching over the Ranger these past few hours had been sleepless and thus of little use, and his body was consummately broken down.

“Prince Legolas?” a voice from behind him asked. The hand upon his back slid to his shoulder, steadying him when he wavered upon his feet. Legolas turned to look at Glorfindel, the forest spinning right along with him at the motion. The Prince only just now noticed that Glorfindel was standing behind him. The commander repeated Elladan’s question, asking, “Are you well?”

 _I will not have them fussing over me, not until I know that Estel has been taken care of,_ he told himself, drawing his shoulders up and back, while trying to clear the fatigue that had settled onto his features and seemingly into his bones.

The normally honest to a fault Wood-Elf outright lied to his friends, telling them, “I am uninjured, save for these bruises. This is mostly Mithfindl’s blood, though some of it is Estel’s from where I carried him over my shoulder, as well. I am only tired and haven’t eaten in days. See to Estel. I can wait.”

As they were eager to tend to their human brother anyway and Legolas was not one to lie, the twins did not question their Silvan friend’s honesty, and so set about caring for Aragorn.

“Then sit down, Greenleaf. You look as if you will fall over,” Elrohir ordered absentmindedly, his attention mostly upon his twin’s hands as Elladan began cleaning Aragorn’s belly of the crusted blood and suppuration thereon. “We will find you something to eat in a moment.”

Ignoring Glorfindel’s hand that the commander held out to help the Silvan to sit, Legolas ungracefully plopped down to the muddy bank, while knowing that he might not make it back to his feet. With a frown, the commander withdrew the hand he had been holding out but did not go about other business. Being the only one who did not quite believe the Prince’s promise that he was fine, Glorfindel crouched down before the laegel to look him in the face. The commander’s sharp acumen and assessing observations were soon trying to measure the veracity of the Wood-Elf’s declaration to the twins.

Legolas had always known the commander of Imladris to be a stalwart warrior, the epitome of justness and righteousness, and never one to waver in decisions or strategy. The last time that the Wood-Elf had seen Glorfindel appear so discomfited, as if he did not know how to approach the Silvan Prince, was when the commander had finished questioning him about his being attacked and then left his room in the House after promising that he was not alone. Perhaps Glorfindel had appeared the same that horrid night in Legolas’ bathing room in the Greenwood, when Legolas had carved the meat from his thigh and the commander had come to his aid when he had eschewed Estel’s touch, but the Prince did not recall much of that moment. Aware of the sight he made – bruised once again, wearing what was obviously Estel’s shirt, barefoot and his leggings missing, and absolutely gory with blood – Legolas figured that Glorfindel was worried that the laegel had been abused and likely defiled yet again, and so did not know what to do for the Prince.

The commander turned to the warriors under his command, who were milling about the bank and tending to the horses, looking anywhere but at Legolas and the twins, as though to give them privacy. Twirling his finger in the air in the vague shape of a circle and not even sparing them a second glance, Glorfindel gave the wordless order for them to disperse to surround the area to protect Estel, Legolas, and the twin sons of Elrond. Glorfindel let loose a shrill whistle that lilted and lifted in melodious ululations, sounding much like a warbler’s song; the commander had just told the Imladrian warriors in the forest that they had found their quarry. Throughout the woods, resounding ululations came in response, all of them the same, so that the news was quickly passed to all involved that the search was over and the Prince and Ranger found.

Without being asked, Glorfindel enlightened Legolas, “Gwindor told us that Estel would bring you by the river on your way back to the House, but I brought forty Elves to sweep the forest as we went, just in case you two were forced to hide or too injured to make it to the river.”

It was good sense, indeed, since the two had been travelling parallel to the Bruinen before Mithfindl’s death for the very purpose of hiding from the Noldorin warrior. It also meant that they would have been found regardless of whether Legolas had carried Estel to the shore, but the Wood-Elf was no less pleased that he had managed it and that they had both been able to reach the Ford, since it lessened the time before the Ranger could be taken to Rivendell. In response to Glorfindel’s explanation, Legolas merely nodded, having little energy to converse with the commander. The abrupt motion, simple though it had been, made the commander’s face blur; to stave off the sickness that erupted in his belly from this, Legolas shut his eyes, which only caused his head to pitch forward as his consciousness nearly absconded.

“Prince?” the commander insisted gently, replacing his hand upon Legolas’ shoulder. The Wood-Elf was suddenly aware that he was nodding off as if to sleep, though it was once more insentience that was soon to assert its hold upon him. When finally the Silvan was able to pry open his eyes and meet Glorfindel’s gaze, the golden commander inquired, “What of Mithfindl? Should I send my soldiers out to hunt for him?”

The Wood-Elf gave Glorfindel what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though it appeared macabre and thin upon his bruised, pale features. He told the commander, “There is no need. Mithfindl is dead. I killed him. As I said, most of this blood is his.”

“That is welcome news,” Glorfindel responded immediately, his eternal, sagacious, and unreadable regard never once leaving Legolas’ face. The Silvan was becoming ever more uncomfortable by this studious stare.

“I agree,” Elrohir quipped with a smile for Legolas, coming to Glorfindel to hand him a pair of leggings that he had pulled from his own satchel. The twin stopped a moment to land a soft clap upon the Wood-Elf’s back, congratulating him, “Well done, brother.”

“We didn’t doubt for a moment that you would do it, not since you said you would,” Elladan added from across the way, sparing a moment to give Legolas a pleased grin identical to Elrohir’s smile. “You always keep your word.”

The Prince had killed before, certainly, but never another Elf. He had thought that taking the life of one of his own kind would have bothered him more than it did but he did not suffer the guilt that he thought he might. More surprising to him was seeing the satisfaction that Mithfindl’s death brought to the twins and commander. Prior to his actually having done it, Legolas had given little consideration to what anyone else might think of his intent to kill Mithfindl, but now that the deed was done, he wondered if he would end up branded a kinslayer or hated by the Imladrians for taking the life of one of their own. If Elladan, Elrohir, or Glorfindel were indicative of how the rest of the valley would feel about the matter, then Legolas’ deed would not cause strife. However, still he thought sardonically, _If I even live long enough to see the Imladrians’ reactions to Mithfindl’s demise, I suspect that either they will give me a public commendation or lynch me in the courtyard._

Perhaps seeing the doubt upon the Prince’s face, Glorfindel asked Legolas, “Do you regret giving Mithfindl his end?”

He did not hesitate to answer, “No. Mithfindl had Estel’s own broadsword in hand and was about to lay his belly open.”

The image of the Noldorin warrior doing this came to Legolas’ tired mind. If he had stumbled at that moment and not been able to grab hold of Mithfindl’s hair; if his broken fingers had slipped upon the hilt of his long knife, letting it fall to the forest floor; if Mithfindl had acted just a second quicker or Legolas just a second later – if any of these things had happened, the already seriously wounded Prince would have been bested by Mithfindl, Estel’s belly would have been pierced or laid open, which would have eventuated in the human’s slow and painful death, with the human likely being forced to watch Legolas’ torture and debasement. At the memory of how close he had come to losing his Adan lover, a shudder ran through the Wood-Elf, though luckily, Glorfindel said nothing upon seeing it happen. Legolas wanted the twins’ attention solely upon Estel for now.

He gave them the only part of the story that he felt up to telling them right now, saying, “Mithfindl thought I was incapacitated and did not know that I was behind him. I grabbed him by the back of his head and slit his throat. It was not the way a warrior might wish to die, but it was quick.”

“You saved Estel’s life.” Nodding to himself, Glorfindel gave the Prince a beatific grin, which is when the young Silvan realized that he had not often seen the commander smile. With some discomfort, for the commander was not in the habit of tending to others as were the twins or their father, Glorfindel took Elrohir’s trousers in hand and threaded the submissive laegel’s bare and mud caked feet through them. “That is a much nobler cause than revenge, though you had all rights to revenge, as well. And yet, you might have felt a little remorse had you slain him for vengeance, but you should feel none at all for killing him to save Estel’s life.”

When the commander had the too large trousers pulled up the Prince’s bare legs to his knees, he aided Legolas in standing so that he could help the Silvan pull them up to his waist. When the Prince’s hands fumbled to tie the lacings, Glorfindel took over this task, knotting the leather thong for the laegel. The Wood-Elf could see that Glorfindel wished to ask more of what had happened but was currently sparing the Silvan this interrogation. There would be time aplenty for questions – that is, if Legolas lived until they had the time to ask them. Even if he did not, Legolas had the day before purposely made it a point to tell Estel everything that had happened so that the Ranger could relay his story to Elrond, Thranduil, and the twins.

Feeling better now that he was at least dressed, though he was still shoeless, filthy, and the unpleasant, narrow greyness of his vision was sluggishly dwindling to black, Legolas shuffled the few steps to where Estel was lying upon one of the twin’s bedrolls. It was useless to try to keep the Ranger dry and since everything was soaked through, it was impossible right now to build a fire, but the twins were doing what they could for the human. Legolas wanted to see what they did, for he had not forgotten his promise to learn what he could to aid Estel should something like this ever happen again.

“What are you giving him?” he asked Elladan.

In tandem, the twins looked up with bewilderment. “A red elm and wormwood poultice. It will draw out the infection,” Elrohir explained patiently, if curiously, for the laegel had never shown any interest in the art of healing.

Legolas wanted to ask more of what they were doing and why, but his mind was incapable of concentrating, and he soon found himself swaying upon his feet again. “I am sorry,” he told his identical friends. “It is my fault that Estel is now ill. It is because of me that he was injured in the first place, but also because of me that he came out into the forest during this foul weather to search for me.”

“You cannot be blamed for stabbing him. You were under the periapt’s control, though if you recall, you fought that control enough to keep from killing Estel,” Elrohir reprimanded mildly in his unwillingness to listen to the Silvan’s deprecatory apology.

“And Greenleaf,” Elladan added in good-natured complaint, ceasing in his winding fresh linen around the Ranger’s belly to speak for himself and his twin, “we would have gladly accompanied you to seek out Mithfindl. We do not know why you felt the need to go alone, nor do we appreciate being left behind, although now that it is done, we hold no grudge.”

“Next time you desire to sate the need to find revenge, give us a little warning,” the younger twin teased, to which the elder added, “Or better yet, extend an invitation. We would have been glad to hold Mithfindl down while you slit his throat, for what he has done to you and Estel.”

“My actions almost ended in Estel’s death.” He appreciated his friends’ attempts to lighten his mood, as they were always eager to do when they were worried or saw that Legolas was worried, but even now, the Ranger shivered in silent, sweaty misery from the fever that lingered in his body. “I should not have taken Kalin with me. Then, none of you would have been able to follow.”

“Kalin told us how he left a trail. We did not find it, but Estel did. Had you not taken Kalin, Estel would not have been able to follow you, that is true, but then, you would be dead, more than likely,” Elladan groused. He handed Elrohir a skin of water and nodded towards Legolas.

Elrohir then handed the Wood-Elf this waterskin and nudged his arm to encourage him to drink from it. He told the Prince while watching him drain the skin, “Besides, Estel will be fine. The fever looks much worse than it is. He is exhausted from searching for you and he is in need of a good meal, as are you from the look of you, but his wound has already expelled most of the infection. He pushed himself too far, too fast, too soon after being injured, but he is strong and bullheaded. He will wake before we even reach the valley, I think, but if he does not, it will be because he is too tired, not because he is too sick.”

“Do not worry,” the elder twin persisted as he tucked in the end of the bandaging, having finished dressing the injury. Because Elladan had earlier scraped the edges of the wound with his dagger to clean it, the small injury was bleeding again. Along with the herbal poultice they had applied, the blood was already seeping through the linen, staining the once white cloth a strange rust color. Elladan then pulled a tunic out of his satchel and began dressing the Ranger in it to help keep him warm. “We are close enough to home now that vilya’s magic is already aiding his body in recovering, as it is your body.”

Legolas handed the waterskin back to Elrohir; in bending over to give it to the younger twin, his dizziness amplified such that when he stood back upright, the brightness of Anor blinded him, the forest spun around him, and the rushing rumble of the Bruinen was matched by the roar of blood in his head. A hand upon his back again kept the Silvan from reeling over and possibly to the ground.

 _Fool,_ he inveighed, _just remain upright until they are done, at least._

As they were checking Aragorn for other injury, the twins had not noticed his momentary lapse, but the commander had. Glorfindel added his other hand to the first and tried to prompt the Wood-Elf into sitting, while telling the twins, “I am no healer, but if one of you can be spared, then I think you had best see to the Prince now.”

Unable to stand any longer or speak to argue against the commander’s suggestion, the Silvan tried to fall into sitting upon the ground again, but Glorfindel would not allow it a second time. The golden haired Elf adroitly slipped his hands under the Prince’s arms and slowly lowered the laegel to the mud and grass shore. Despite that the Wood-Elf worried more for Estel than for himself, it seemed that the twins were becoming more worried for Legolas – especially after hearing Glorfindel’s surmise.

Coming to sit beside the Silvan, who only then realized that his eyes were closed, the younger of the Noldorin twins prompted the Wood-Elf whom he and his twin loved as a brother, “Muindor?”

Try though he did to open his eyes, Legolas could not. His head lolled forward and then to the side as he tried to turn to the sound of Elrohir’s voice, to show he was listening and to try to keep up the pretense of being better off than he truly was. Legolas answered in a barely audible murmur, “Yes?”

Elrohir was prodding and shifting the Prince’s borrowed shirt until in exasperation, he merely lifted the gory cloth and thus saw the bandaging wrapped around his torso. With a snort of aggravation, the Noldo pulled free the cloth – which was a strip of Estel’s tunic – and finally exposed the grievous injury made to Legolas’ chest.

“You liar!” the younger twin vehemently exclaimed, his outrage causing him to lose his temper quickly. “Greenleaf, you’ve been pierced by an arrow!”

It hurt to laugh – it also hurt to breathe, to think, and to sit upright, but still, Legolas chuckled at Elrohir’s annoyance. Without bothering to explain to his friends that this wound was caused by Estel’s distrust of him and still unable to pry open his heavy eyelids, Legolas explicated to the twins and commander, his voice whispery and diminishing with each spoken word, “One of my own arrows, actually. Mithfindl tried to fell Estel but luckily it struck me instead.”

“Bauglir’s balls, Greenleaf. You have a hole in your chest but you sit here laughing,” came a voice to his other side, sounding much like the one to his right, which meant that Elladan was now hovering around him to see the damage done, as well. The Wood-Elf squinted his eyes to see his friends before him. “You lied to us!”

“You never lie. Prevaricate a bit, maybe, but not lie.” Before Elladan had even finished speaking, Elrohir began his part of the lecture that Legolas would receive, which was just how the twins usually spoke, giving their target no chance to interrupt. He asked in fuming concern, “Why did you not tell us you were injured?”

“To focus your attention upon Estel first,” the insightful commander answered on the Wood-Elf’s behalf. Standing behind the twins, his tall form blocking the sun, which created a halo of light around his golden hair, Glorfindel found some amusement in Legolas’ ploy, at least. He shook his head, snickered, and reprimanded the twins teasingly, “You two should have known better.”

Again, the laegel chuckled in demented contentment, since his goal of having the twins first tend to the Ranger had worked. Elladan and Elrohir were not entertained in the slightest, however. They first turned concurrently to glare at the commander before turning their mirrored scowls to Legolas, but the Woodland Prince had already shut his tired eyes, for the world suddenly seemed too bright around him. In fact, the Prince’s chin was nearly resting upon his chest, letting his tangled and filth encrusted hair block the sunlight from filtering through his closed eyelids. In that single moment, the Elf could have happily let go of his faer. The assurances from the twins that the Adan would be fine and that Kalin would live were enough that his mind and body began to feel lax in relief. He could not see exactly what the twins were doing to him, but their handling of his wounded chest increased his agony such that he began to long for the respite from his pain that death would bring him. When he tried to lie back on the ground, Legolas felt hands keeping him upright. Eventually, fresh bandaging was wrapped around his chest. Elladan and Elrohir were speaking to him; what they said, he could not tell, but by the tone of their voices, Legolas could sense their urgent anxiety.

 _I should apologize for worrying them._ He ought to do so, he knew, but did not have the strength. So instead, he sat there while they fussed over and at him.

To the northeast came a whistling call. Legolas was familiar with many of the calls that the Imladrian patrol used to communicate and so recognized this one to indicate that someone friendly approached the main camp – which the Prince took to mean that someone was coming to where he, the twins, Estel, and Glorfindel were currently situated upon the bank of the Loudwater.

 _Who could that be?_ he wondered incuriously, giving it only passing interest. Were it just one of the Imladrian warriors, then no warning call would have been given. _Perhaps some traveller is coming over the Ford,_ he decided in distraction, his shoulders slumping forward, his arms hanging uselessly and his hands loose in his lap, and his breathing slowing as his consciousness seeped away.

The commander walked off to greet whoever had arrived; since Glorfindel had already sent away or set to task everyone but Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas figured that he would turn away or put to work whoever now showed so that the Wood-Elf and human’s dignity and privacy could be retained. And yet, the Prince was surprised to hear Glorfindel hail, “King Thranduil.”

In an instant, Legolas’ flagging awareness focused. _Ada,_ he thought, his eyes flying open in eagerness to see his father. 


	20. Chapter 20

“Where is he?” the Elvenking asked straightaway to the commander, bypassing him before receiving his answer so that he could look behind the twins, who were unintentionally blocking the laegel from his father’s view where they hovered over Legolas. “Where is my son?”

Legolas opened his mouth and took a deep breath to call out to his King, but the action stretched his chest and incited more agony, such that instead of a greeting he let loose a loud gasp that he only just managed to stifle ere it became an outright whimper. Injured, likely dying, starving, and having already made some peace with his Ada prior to his fleeing the valley almost a week ago, Thranduilion still did not want to appear weak before Thranduil, for it was the King’s penchant to make use of his son’s weakness to bend him to his will. Besides, the Silvan knew that his father believed that any perceived weakness of the Prince was a mark against the King, as well.

“He is here,” Elladan told Thranduil, though by then the Sinda was standing behind the kneeling twins, who parted to allow the Elf-King the room to come closer to his son.

“You live,” his father stated the obvious in ostensible bafflement, clearly expecting to find a corpse. A moment later, Oiolaire and Ninan appeared behind their King, who immediately knelt next to Legolas, leaving his sentries to stare on in elation to find that their Prince had survived.

Unable to tell if his Adar was upset or pleased to see that he lived, the Wood-Elf Prince nodded and gave his father as much a respectful bow as he could by lowering his head and shoulders briefly. Son or not, the Prince was always careful to show his father the respect that a King deserved. He had no clue as to if his Ada would be irate with him. Before leaving Imladris, Legolas had thought that his father could be the only one who might approve of his actions, of his seeking out Mithfindl for retribution; now, however, he was not as certain as he had been then. His King was ever mutable when it came to the Prince, it seemed, and often changed his mind and feelings over Legolas’ actions for little or no apparent reason.

 _At least Elrohir, Elladan, and Glorfindel are here now. Perhaps he will not lecture me with them in witness, if he is upset that I risked my life to end Mithfindl’s life._ But he quickly amended that thought, _No, I have traded my life for Mithfindl’s life, though at least I have saved Estel’s in the process, albeit by accident._ Of course, his father would not see it as such. He would likely once again rant at Legolas that Estel ought to be the one dying. For that matter, if Thranduil ever heard that Estel had jumped from the way and Legolas had caught with his chest the arrow intended for the man, then the Elvenking would never forgive Aragorn for it – especially after Legolas died.

“Yes, he lives. But only barely, no thanks to Greenleaf,” Elrohir grumbled, showing his displeasure at being tricked by Legolas in the scowl that he gave the Wood-Elf. However, when an abruptly anxious Thranduil grabbed the twin’s arm to begin to question what he meant by ‘only barely,’ Elrohir explained quickly to the King to forfend his disquiet, “His wound is dire, but with my father’s aid, his body will heal.”

Left unsaid by Elrohir was that the Prince’s faer might still cause his death, even if his rhaw managed to recuperate. His fear not yet assuaged, the Elvenking let go of Elrohir but probed, “Then why do you say only barely?”

“Greenleaf hid his injury from us so that we would tend Estel first,” the elder twin clarified to the King, giving the laegel a harrumph of reprimand though it was softened by the smile that followed. Elladan, at least, appreciated how the Prince had wanted his lover tended to first, even if the Noldo had rather Legolas not lied. Elladan would have done the same to have one of his brothers – including Legolas – tended to before he received aid for himself. “Elrohir is merely aggravated, your Majesty.”

The twins moved back farther so that Thranduil could sit beside Legolas, which the King did immediately. He walked on his knees until he was nearly upon the younger Elf. “What is your wound, ion nin? Are you in pain?”

“I am fine. Or I will be, once we get Estel to Imladris.” In truth, the Wood-Elf did not expect that he would live to make it to the valley, but he would not burden his father with this dreary news.

To hear the Wood-Elf claim that he was fine caused both twins to snort concomitantly in disbelief. Elrohir handed Thranduil his skin of water to give to Legolas, for the Prince could not seem to get enough to drink, and told the King, “Mithfindl shot him with an arrow in the chest. We are not sure of how deep it went but think that his rib might be broken.”

After Legolas had his fill of water, Thranduil lifted up the Prince’s shirt, noting that it did not belong to him, to look for himself at the damage done to his son. Just before the King’s arrival, the twins had cleaned and wrapped Legolas’ chest with new linen, which the King did not remove so that he could see what laid underneath. During this inspection, though, his father looked long at Legolas’ chest. It wasn’t until he saw the anger growing in his father’s face that the laegel recalled the other wounds he carried upon his torso – bruises, scrapes, and various contusions. His pale skin still showed the faintest of marks from the first two times that Mithfindl had beaten him – contusions that vilya had healed but not entirely. However, what drew the King’s attention and incited his mounting, horrified wrath were the bite marks upon his son’s chest. Legolas only just remembered those small injuries.

 _The twins have seen them, as well. They will think that I was defiled by Mithfindl again._ Long though he did to assure them that he had not so that they would not worry, denying that he had been defiled only opened the door for them to question him about what had actually happened, and the Prince did not feel up to an interrogation.

Gingerly, Thranduil lowered Legolas’ shirt and turned his inspection to the Prince’s face and neck. He had not seen himself in a mirror so was not certain of the gruesomeness of the bruises made to his throat, but gauging from his father’s face, they were fierce. Coupled with the bruises to his face, the myriad, shallow slashes Mithfindl had drawn across his throat made the Elf suddenly realize that even should he swear that the Noldorin warrior had not ravaged him, no one would believe him – not since he looked just as he had after the first and second time that Mithfindl had raped him.

For a few long moments, Thranduil watched Legolas, waiting for the Prince to explain or say something, perhaps, but the laegel said nothing. Finally, his father looked away in discomfort.

“What of Estel?” the King asked next, searching the ground about them for signs of the Ranger. Under a bedroll and surrounded by the twins’ saddlebags, the Adan nearly looked like a pile of supplies. Concerned, though perhaps mostly so because the Ranger’s death would eventuate in his son’s demise, Thranduil inquired, “Is he well?”

“Infection.” Elrohir dug through his satchel a moment before he merely dumped it onto the drenched grass next to him, so impatient was he to find that for which he searched. “He is sleeping, which is what he needs most right now. But we have applied a poultice to his wound. If he wakes before we leave, we will ply him with brewed medicines. When we reach home, Ada will see to them both, I am sure. He will not be pleased to use vilya to heal these bruises again. You look as though he never healed you at all,” Elrohir reproached in mock annoyance, saying much as Estel had when teasing Legolas the day before about the very similar pattern of contusions upon his pale skin, “but I don’t think he will hesitate this time to see that both you and Estel are fully healed before the sun sets on this day.”

“He used vilya upon Kalin,” Oiolaire interrupted, though he then blushed to realize that he had interrupted a conversation between the twin Elf Lords and his King. He continued, nonetheless, telling them all, “I watched him do it. The skin of Kalin’s side began to knit itself together. I have not ever seen anything like it. When Lord Elrond was done, there was only a faint, pink scar along his side, where it was once laid open.”

At the reminder of the ring of power and its potential to be of aid to Legolas, Thranduil asked the twins, “Do you think Elrond will be willing to use vilya upon my son again? What of Estel? Is that what you meant by fully healed?”

All of them – most especially Thranduil, who had received Elrond’s lecture very recently about the importance of learning from one’s mistakes, even should those mistakes have physical, painful consequences – knew the Peredhel’s hesitation to use vilya  to heal quickly and completely, preferring instead to let the magic of the ring provide a subtle, slow facilitation to healing. But Elrohir did not hesitate to tell them, “Our father will use it.”

Unaware or uncaring of reminding Thranduil of how Elrond considered Legolas one of his sons, the elder twin assured the Elf-King, “He told us before we left to return his wayward sons home as rapidly as we could so that he could put them back together. He seemed to know that they were both in poor condition.”

Glorfindel, who thus far had been standing back with the Silvan sentries, asked of Ninan and Oiolaire, “If you two will relieve two of my warriors who are surrounding us even now for safeguard, then I will send them onwards to collect Mithfindl’s body. Then we should leave for Imladris. I should like to be back before night falls.”

Legolas watched his King’s face as he heard this. Thranduil’s angular features were often set in a permanent frown, such that even if the Elf-King were contentedly looking at a bird in the sky, he would seem to most as if he were contemplating the best way to slaughter said fowl. Learning that Mithfindl was dead cleared this scowl from Thranduil’s face in a split second. Turning to the Prince, the King commented and then asked, “The repulsive fool is dead. Was it you? Did you find your retribution?”

Soon, he would fall into either unconsciousness or death. All that kept him aware right now was adrenaline, but even this was waning. _Let us leave for the House soon before they begin asking me more questions._ He nodded to answer his father, saying simply in hopes that this would pacify his Ada for now, “Yes. I slit his throat.”

A pleasant and unusually lively smile graced his father’s face. Thranduil leant forward to lay his hand upon Legolas’ contused and abraded forehead, where he then ran his thumb over the younger Elf’s brow. “I knew you would. I knew that you had to and I knew that you would. Elrond wanted to send his people after you, to bring you and Estel back regardless of whether you had found Mithfindl or not, but I waylaid his doing so for as long as I could. It wasn’t until Kalin arrived that he would no longer be swayed into waiting for you to return.”

Legolas had wondered why the Imladrians had called off their search and not found Estel or him earlier, and now he knew why. His father had wanted Legolas to end Mithfindl, knowing that it would ease his son’s faer. Truly, though, the Prince had not exactly found retribution, for he had killed Mithfindl to save Estel and not because he had wanted vengeance for the wrongs done to him, which had been his original motive. He had little energy to keep his eyes open and none to explain any of this – and so, the Silvan Prince only smiled in return at his father.

But suddenly, the glower resumed upon Thranduil’s face, though he gave the brunt of his displeasure to Glorfindel, twisting at the waist to face the commander, and telling him when he realized Glorfindel’s intention to be respectful to Mithfindl’s corpse, “Why would you want that vile animal’s body? Leave it to the other animals. He deserves no less.”

Oiolaire and Ninan had not yet left to do the commander’s bidding, since they awaited their King’s complicity to Glorfindel’s suggestion. They listened intently along with Thranduil as Legolas responded quietly, “Lord Thialid should not suffer the indignity of knowing that his son was left to be eaten by vultures, or suffer by not having a burial marker over which to grieve.”

When it seemed that Thranduil would argue with his progeny, Glorfindel was quick to interject, “Personally, I would not mind to let the scavengers have him, but since the Prince was hurt most by Mithfindl, I intend to follow Legolas’ wishes on the matter,” Glorfindel stated, leaving no room for dispute, though he added, “Your son is kinder than are we.”

The fearsome ire left Thranduil and he turned back to Legolas. “Go,” he said to the sentries, which caused Oiolaire and Ninan to do as Glorfindel had asked of them, together taking off to find two of the Imladrians to relieve of duty for a short while to see to the task appointed them. The Imladrians would need to follow Legolas and Estel’s path backwards to where Mithfindl could be found, for Legolas would never be able to tell them exactly where the body was. Most of his journey to the river while carrying Estel was a mere blur of his own bare feet squelching in the mud. Too late did he think to request of them to retrieve his and Aragorn’s weapons from the low tree limb in which he’d left them, but since they were not well hidden, the laegel thought that they might be found anyway when the sentries gathered Mithfindl’s body and possessions.

With his hand once more sweeping across the bruises and cuts upon the Prince’s face, Thranduil agreed with Glorfindel, “Yes, Legolas’ faer has always housed more kindness than ever mine has. And Thialid is lucky that it is so.” Thranduil ran his fingers through the laegel’s tangled, befouled hair. Despite the last day of torrential rain and his being doused in the swollen river during his effort to save Estel from drowning, Legolas’ hair and skin were still crusted in bone fragments and dust from his time in the refuse pit in the cave. “What is this that covers you? I have never seen you so filthy,” the King said in mendacious irritation.

Normally, his father would truly be irate that the Prince was so grimy, for he expected Legolas always to look the part of a Prince. His cross tone was teasing, however, which made the laegel smile. He did not wish to remember nor relate the events of his being trapped in the Troll cave and so once more did not bother to answer. He could only hope that his silence would end the aggregating inquiries his Ada made.

The Woodland Prince could tell from his father’s face that his King wanted to ask him many questions. Glorfindel had helped Legolas into his borrowed trousers before Thranduil had arrived, but it was clear nonetheless that they were not his and not the ones he had been wearing when he left, for they were clean, still mostly dry, and far too big on him. Thus far, no one had gathered the courage to inquire why Legolas was wearing a borrowed shirt, why he was battered almost as badly as he had been a few days ago. Since Legolas was now sure that they had seen the bite marks upon him, only their fear to inflame his grief arrested their curiosity. Clearly, they all wanted to know what had happened, but Legolas did not want to spend his last hours alive – if that was indeed what they ended up being – dredging up memories of his torment.

“If Estel and Legolas are able to ride, then let us depart at once,” Thranduil suggested, which was a good suggestion in the Prince’s thinking. He wanted to know that Estel would be on his way home; he could not sleep, rest, nor allow himself to entertain the thought of death until he was certain that the Ranger would be well. “Estel needs to be out of the damp, in dry clothing, and have a proper bed to sleep in,” the King said in true but odd concern for his son’s lover, “and I would have Elrond’s healing power for Legolas as soon as possible.”

Yes, the Wood-Elf knew that his father’s concern for Estel was because the King feared what the human’s death might have upon Legolas. It was hard to be mad at his father for this somewhat selfish concern, however, since Thranduil could not be expected to love Estel just because Legolas loved the human.

The night that Legolas had hewn the flesh of his thigh in his bathtub in his father’s halls, the King had bullied the Prince into making the promise never to see Estel again. That same night, Thranduil had told Legolas he loved him and he feared ever to lose his son as he had lost so many other lives he held dear – the dearest of which had been his Queen. After years of abuse, neglect, and apathy for the Silvan Prince, all of which had caused Legolas to believe that his father hated him, Thranduil had told his son that he loved him so much that indeed he did hate him, for Thranduil’s love for Legolas caused him to live in constant fear that he would lose the laegel.

So much had changed for father and son since then, starting with that night, continuing with the night that Legolas had left Mirkwood and his father had nearly beaten him to death, and carried over into Imladris, to where his King had come to make his amends with the Prince. Since Thranduil’s arrival in the valley and especially right before the laegel had fled Rivendell to locate Mithfindl, sire had been showing son the love that he felt but had dreaded to express. Legolas had never expected to live beyond killing Mithfindl and so had never thought he would see the fruition of his father’s newfound determination to display his love for his son – and yet, here Legolas was, with his father, who had come with the others to find him, who remained by his side like a shadow, who unselfconsciously stroked the laegel’s forehead and rubbed his arms in unchecked devotion, and who showed Legolas a patient consideration and paternal affection of which the Prince would never tire.

Eager to be on their way, as well, Legolas added to his father’s argument, “I am able, if Estel is able. Ada is right. Estel needs clean, dry clothes, a warm bed, and food.”

Not consulting the twins over the matter, for they would bow to Glorfindel’s wishes anyway, being that they still respected him as a teacher and one of their father’s closest advisors, the commander let loose another remarkable whistle. Echoes of that whistle reverberated through the woods as the Imladrians’ shared the news amongst them that they were to return to the valley. Already, Elladan and Elrohir were packing their satchels to leave. Legolas watched this busyness, his eyelids drooping once again, his breathing slowing into halting gasps, until his father wrapped his arm around his waist and then slid his other arm under the Prince’s knees to lift the younger Elf into standing.

In preparation for their journey, Elladan was already mounted and ready to accept Legolas to ride with him. When Thranduil walked to where he had left his own horse with the twins’ and commanders steeds, the elder twin told the King, “Hand him up. I will keep watch over him.”

“No,” the Elf-King rebutted, not deigning to explain himself just yet.

Thranduil left Legolas in Elrohir’s care while he mounted his horse; the King then held out his arms with all expectation of being passed the Prince. Elladan and Elrohir glanced to each other, questioning whether to argue against letting Legolas ride with the King when he might best be aided while riding with one them, who would know what to look for and what to do should his condition worsen.

Seeing that the indomitable twin Noldor were not doing his behest at once, Thranduil bid them with more politeness than he had shown before, “He will be most comfortable riding with me. Please, help him up here to ride before me.”

Again, the twins shared a look between them. Legolas understood what that glance meant. They knew what Thranduil worried, for it was a fear that they shared; that is, that the Prince had been ravaged again and would react poorly should he be uncomfortable riding before a male – friend or not. Legolas had not been defiled by Mithfindl again, but even if he had, he would not have been discomfited riding afore either of the Noldorin twins, for they were as much family to him as was his father, and the twins knew this. He would not have been keen to ride before anyone else, though, so valued his Ada’s concern. He also appreciated Elladan and Elrohir agreeing to the King’s wish to avoid a discussion about the matter.

“We should be able to reach home before they ring the bells for dinner,” Elladan told the Prince, hopping down off his horse to help Elrohir in lifting the Wood-Elf onto Thranduil’s mount, and giving him an affectionate squeeze with his hand upon the Silvan’s shoulder. “If you can rest while riding, do so, Greenleaf.”

The twins knew just what vexed the laegel, which was why Elrohir was sure to assuage the Silvan along with his twin, telling Legolas as they lifted him into his father’s waiting arms, “Glorfindel’s warriors will be all around us in the woods and we are close to home – there is no danger. And we will keep a close watch on Estel. He will be fine, Greenleaf. Do not worry for him.”

His Noldorin friends knew him well. What they did not know, though, else they might not have been so quick to offer these assurances, was that fear for Estel had been the only impetus for Legolas to continue. Without that fear, he had no reason left to remain. And still, however, the Wood-Elf did not wish to die. He had not lied to Estel. He wished to go into the wilds with the Ranger, he wished to make a reality the dream he’d had of him and Aragorn finding some unknown and untamed area, spending their time together with nothing but each other, the open sky, and a bright fire by which to lie with his lover. He still felt the ever-present sorrow of his being tormented but the scar was gone. With Mithfindl now dead – and by Legolas’ hand, no less – he had no more fear of excruciation, no one left to shame him, and believed that he had taken back some modicum of control over his life, mind, and future. However, the laegel knew that his body was at its breaking point. If they did not reach the valley soon or if Elrond was unwilling to use vilya, then the Wood-Elf would die and he would never travel the wilds with Estel again.

With Elladan and Elrohir’s help, Legolas was soon in his father’s arms. As though he were an Elfling, the King gathered the Prince before him, not letting the laegel sit astride but crosswise so that his side leant against his father’s chest. Happily and with a contentment that he had not felt around his King in years beyond count, Legolas curled into his father’s body. He laid his head down upon his King’s broad chest, at the base of his throat, and at once, his Adar rested his chin upon Legolas’ head, never minding that the laegel’s hair was befouled and smelled of the rank water in which he’d been mired. Around them, Glorfindel was aiding Elladan and Elrohir into getting Estel mounted before one of them. It wasn’t long until they were ready to depart.

“Close your eyes, ion nin,” his Adar whispered to him tenderly, tightening one arm around the Prince’s  torso to hold him close, while with his other he held loosely the reins to his horse. “Sleep.”

So tired was he, so relieved was he that Estel’s life was in the hands of his family, and so willing was he to enjoy his Adar’s loving attention that Legolas did as he was bid and closed his eyes. If he died before reaching the valley, then he could die peacefully, knowing that Estel would be safe in Rivendell, that his father loved him, and that he had accomplished his goal of reclaiming what dignity he could. Quite certain that if he closed his eyes he would never again open them, Legolas shut them anyway. His Ada’s arms held him affectionately, pressing the younger, smaller, and kinder son against his older, broader, and sterner father.

He could feel the warmth of the sun upon his face, reveled in the familiar, distinct smell of his Ada’s soap and clothing, and relaxed into the comfort of having his father’s embrace. He did not once think of himself as weak or lesser for desiring or receiving this care and attention, nor did he care if every Imladrian in the valley saw him wrapped in his Adar’s arms. He had longed for this simple warmth for years. It was too little, too late, perhaps, but welcome nonetheless.

 _It is all over. It is done._ Against the silken but drenched cloth of his King’s tunic, Legolas smiled as his sentience fell away.

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From the jounce of his body, Estel knew at once that he was on horseback. His first cogent thought was of Legolas. _Where is Greenleaf? Does he live?_ The Ranger would have his answers. He was lying back against someone, who he believed must be one of the twins, for he could hear either Elladan or Elrohir speaking on the horse next to the one on which he rode.

“Stop,” someone called out fearfully. At first, the human thought that they had seen him waking and so wanted to check on him, but he soon learnt otherwise.

“What is it?” the twin against which he sat asked, which is when Estel knew that he rode with Elrohir.

_Was that Thranduil asking to stop?_

He opened his eyes, trying to look around him, but his body was sluggish and responded slowly. At feeling the Ranger move, Elrohir told the human, “You are awake, brother. Thank Eru. But be still, Estel, else you will fall.”

Aragorn paid little mind to Elrohir’s admonishment when he heard the Elf-King exclaim in horror, “Legolas has stopped breathing.”


	21. Chapter 21

_Greenleaf,_ the Adan worried. Before Elrohir’s horse had even stopped by the twin’s command, Estel was trying to dismount.

Mere moments ago, Estel had awoken with a vague dread, as if something ill were occurring or was about to occur. And so it was. He didn’t know if it was just a premonition, good luck, or if the unusual bond between the Wood-Elf and him had roused him from his deep sleep, but the hitherto unwakeable Ranger’s sentience revived with impeccable timing. He was now utterly alert. Legolas needed him – that was the entire basis for his current volition and his only thoughts were of getting to the Silvan Elf.

“Stop,” the King called out again, though Elladan and Elrohir were halted already.

“Estel,” Elrohir hissed at him in fretfulness for his human brother’s well-being. Unable to stop the Adan, the younger Noldo could only watch as the Ranger fell to his hands and knees upon the ground. At once, Elrohir dismounted on the side opposite and pulled his horse away from the human so that he would not be trampled accidentally. Letting the reins to his steed hang loosely from the bit – as the horse would not flee or wander off without Elrohir – the younger twin knelt down beside Aragorn, leaving Elladan to see to what Thranduil wanted. “Muindor, are you ok?”’

Elrohir had his hands out to try to keep Estel from rising from the ground. Because of his tiredness and injury, the Ranger was easily kept from standing, though he was able to sit back upon his heels to see some of what was happening with Thranduil and Legolas. The human did not answer Elrohir but asked him instead, “What is wrong with Greenleaf?”

Elladan was off his horse, as well, and went hastily to the King’s mount to pull the Prince from where he sat before his father. Elrohir remained with Estel, however, and told him, “I have not had the chance to find out, since you insisted on falling to the ground.”

“Then go help him, please. I am no more hurt than before. Help Greenleaf,” he pled with his Elven brother.

The younger twin nodded to his human sibling and sped across the underbrush to be of assistance to Elladan, seizing the Prince’s legs while Elladan had Legolas by under his arms, and together they laid him out near the snarled roots of a birch tree. Much had happened during his slumber, the Ranger realized. Not only had they been found but were already on their way to the valley. Estel had thought that he would awake or be awoken should they be located, but his sleep had been deep and unhampered by the twins’ having cared for his injury, moving him, or dressing him in a borrowed tunic, much less the time he had spent unknowingly jostled around riding Elrohir’s horse. He didn’t take a moment to ponder any of it. From where he was sitting, as of yet unable to convince his throbbing belly to allow him to move, Aragorn could not see much of Legolas, but he could see the concomitant, blatant fear upon Elrohir and Elladan’s faces.

 _He is dying. Greenleaf is dying,_ he concluded in benumbed disbelief.

Eventually, the twins shifted and the Ranger could better see his Elven lover where he laid upon the thick grasses that grew between the birch’s exposed roots. The Wood-Elf’s lips were turning the cyanotic shade that foretold imminent asphyxiation. Thranduil was wrong – Legolas breathed still, but only in shallow, painful sips of air. He watched as Elladan tilted the Prince’s head back to make it easier for Legolas to breathe. Estel was sure that he must still be asleep and thus dreaming, and that in his waking life, Legolas was hale and the same perfect alabaster shade as was he normally.

Desperate to be of some aid to his Elven lover or at least to be of some comfort to him, the human scrambled on his hands and knees the short distance to where Legolas laid lifeless. He picked up the Wood-Elf’s hand from where it rested upon the ground; the Prince’s flesh was cold and his fingers were slowly turning the same limpid blue as his lips and eyelids. Either the twins had not noticed Legolas’ broken fingers or had seen them and were unable to set the extremely swollen digits to  rights, for there were no splints upon the Wood-Elf’s hand. As far as Aragorn could tell, no further damage had been done to the Prince, which meant that Legolas’ previous injuries were finally overwhelming his already damaged rhaw, the healing of which was hampered by his dolorous faer.

 _I should have tried to stay awake,_ his guilty mind supplied. He had known that the only thing keeping the Elf from giving in to the seriousness of his injuries was Legolas’ adamantine, foundational desire to see Estel safe within his brothers’ care. Once the twins had arrived, there had been nothing to keep Legolas’ mind engaged. _If I had stayed awake, if I had even woken up when the twins showed up, I could have kept Greenleaf occupied._

As one, Elladan and Elrohir stepped back from Legolas. The younger twin placed his hand upon his elder’s shoulder and then by this hold pulled him close, until the two Noldor were standing hip to hip with Elrohir’s arm wrapped around his twin’s waist in brotherly comfort. At this, Estel then knew that they had no hope for Legolas. Elladan and Elrohir had known Legolas for almost all of the Prince’s life. It would break their hearts to lose Legolas, their sorrow likely to engulf them almost as badly as when their mother sailed. Aragorn could not bear to watch the twins as their distress mounted. Instead, he looked upon the battered, scuffed face of the Woodland Prince.

 _Do not leave me,_ he said to himself, wishing that he had the heart to say it aloud. He would not ask the grieving laegel to remain for him, though, and so bit his tongue to keep from pleading with Legolas to live. _Please, Greenleaf. Please wake up._

The human could not picture spending the remainder of his years without seeing the brilliant, crystalline blue eyes of his lover; he could not fathom never hearing the Wood-Elf laugh nor see his pouty lips curl into the secretive smile that he gave Aragorn and Aragorn alone; Estel could not imagine never again having the Elf’s warmth by which to lie at night, of never again tasting Legolas’ sweet breath upon his tongue the moment before their parted lips pressed for a kiss, or never again seeing the Wood-Elf’s body shimmy when his pleasure finally peaked and he found completion.

 _Do not die of injury. If you wish to fade from sorrow, I will be no less miserable, but at least then, I would know that you wished to die._ Aragorn brought Legolas’ fingers to his lips and kissed each digit upon the laegel’s hand, one by one, taking especial care with the broken, smallest fingers. _Breathe, Greenleaf. That’s all that you must do. Just keep breathing until we reach the valley and your Minyatar. Breathe, meleth nin._

“What do we do for him?” the Elf-King was asking those around him. Thus far, Thranduil had stood back to give the twins room to maneuver around the Prince, but now he stood in confusion. The Elvenking’s eyes – nearly the same azure shade as his son’s eyes – were frantic as he sought help for Legolas. When neither Elladan nor Elrohir moved to aid the laegel but remained side by side, giving the other comfort by their nearness, the King shouted with all the hauteur of a life lived accustomed to his orders being followed at once, “Do not just stand there. Do something for him!”

“I am sorry,” the elder twin told the King, shaking his head while his melancholy, murky, viridian eyes remained upon the dying laegel. “His body has failed. His injuries are too great. We have done all that we can.”

“It is his time,” the younger twin added; though the Wood-Elf was yet to die, tears of mourning were already forming in his similarly colored, striking green eyes, as well. Elrohir repeated at seeing the King’s skepticism, “There is nothing that we can do for him. Getting him to our father was his only hope.”

“Then let us go now.” The Elf-King knelt opposite of Estel, such that Legolas had two of those whom he most loved on either side of him. Making as if to scoop the laegel up from the ground, Thranduil argued belligerently, “Why do we wait? Let us ride with haste. One of your people can ride quickly to the valley to summon Elrond. He can meet us upon our way to him.”

And still, neither twin moved. Thranduil frowned, the usual immaculacy of his features disappeared beneath a momentary grimace of wrathful misery. The King turned this look to Estel. Of all else who loved and knew Legolas, Thranduil expected that the Ranger would be the one who most would fight for the Prince to survive. He was right of this; nevertheless, the Adan turned away from Thranduil to gaze upon the nearly translucent skin of his Elven lover. He didn’t know for how long the Elf had been gasping for air, but his struggles were slowly decreasing. Aragorn was an adept healer, but not more so than were his twin brothers. If they had no hope for Legolas to recover his breath, then there was no hope to be had.

“What of you?” the Elf-King whispered to Estel. He spoke softly – not as if to hide his voice, but as if speaking loudly might make truer the content of his soft susurration. “Will he die now? After surviving all of this? After killing Mithfindl? Legolas will still die?”

 _No,_ the Ranger argued against their morbid, easy acceptance of the Elf’s death. In the fresh air, the sun shining serenely down upon him, and amidst the chattering, chirping wildlife, the greenery and wildflowers, and his head resting upon the root of the tree beside which the twins had laid him, the Prince could not have chosen a more pristine, naturally beautiful place in which to die – by Estel’s thinking. Aloud, he told the King, “If Greenleaf were awake, he might be able to persist until we reach the valley, but he is too deeply insentient, else he would have woken already from the feeling of his slow suffocation.”

“He is in no pain right now. He will fade in his sleep,” Elrohir tried desperately to soothe the King, the Ranger, his twin, and himself, before Elladan added to that thought by saying forlornly, “He would never make it to the valley. Let us allow him to die in peace.”

He tried to take the Wood-Elf’s other hand in his, as well, but the Adan was soon pushed from the way with no regard. Falling backwards onto his ass and confused as to why Thranduil had knocked him to the side, Estel scrambled forward again to get to Legolas, for he would not be denied being close to the Prince during his last moments. To his astonishment, Thranduil was straddling the laegel’s legs and his hands were fisted in Legolas’ shirt, at the collar, to pull the Elf from off the ground by it. The young Wood-Elf hung limply from the swallowing folds of fabric, his arms lax and dragging the ground, and his head lolling back in unawareness of what was about to occur.

“King Thranduil,” one of the twins disdainfully began in concern for their dying Silvan friend, but he did not finish, for they all fell silent and still when Thranduil began his rant at the Prince.

“Wake up, Legolas!” the King shouted so loudly and with such force that Aragorn thought Thranduil could have woken the dead. “Do not think you can leave me, Legolas! Wake up!”

 _And that is just what he is trying to do,_ the human thought absently as he watched Thranduil shake the younger Elf by his hold of Legolas’ shirt. _He is trying to wake the dead._

“Leave him be,” the other twin started to chastise, though neither twin came forward to stop the King as he railed at his son to wake.

Glorfindel, who had been riding far enough in front of them not to have seen them stop but close enough to hear should they call for help, was part of an imperfect circle of Elven soldiers arranged in guard of the twins, Ranger, King, and Prince as they made the last leg of the journey to the valley. The commander, upon hearing Thranduil’s shouting, was just now turning back to see what the matter was. Ninan had been riding beside his King and Prince but now stood with a stoic look upon his face, his years of service as a sentry giving him plenty of experience with Thranduil’s anger but no idea of what to do to appease it now.

Indeed, even Estel sat numbly back while the King harangued the Prince – at least, he sat still until he saw Thranduil let loose of Legolas’ shirt with one hand only to pull that hand back. At once, the Ranger knew what the King would do. Had any of them tried, none of them could have been quick enough to stop Thranduil before he swung, so they only watched as the Elvenking’s open palm connected with the Prince’s face in a resounding smack that wrenched Legolas’ wilting head to the side.

“Wake up, you fool! You promised that you would always come back to me!” the Elf-King was screaming. Already, Thranduil had his hand pulled back to land another blow to the Prince’s face. “Do not leave me!”

Aragorn tried to climb to his knees to reach the King before he could strike Legolas again but fell back into sitting on his rear when he twisted his wounded and aching stomach. The twins were properly horrified. They had never witnessed Thranduil strike the Prince before, though they had known for years beyond count that the demanding Elf-King was oftentimes cruel to Legolas. Whether it was shock or unwillingness to interfere, Elladan and Elrohir did not try to stop what was happening. Ninan likely felt that it was not his place to intervene with his King’s raging sorrow, either. Only Estel was willing to try to stop the King, but his seething belly seemed intent on keeping him from doing so.

 _Will they stand back and let Thranduil beat the last breath out of Greenleaf?_ the human wondered, panting in pain but already trying once more to crawl his way to tackle Thranduil to the ground. Even if Legolas were unaware of it, Estel would not let the Elf die under the King’s abusive hands. He no more wanted Legolas to die than did anyone, but if his Greenleaf would fade, then the Ranger would have his lover die without his father’s fury being the last that he heard or felt.

Again, Thranduil struck the Silvan Prince across the face, backhanding him this time, as he bellowed, “You lying, unfaithful ingrate. You will not leave me! Wake!”

In a flash, the commander bounded off his pure white horse, seemingly leapt the distance between his steed and the King, and grabbed hold of Thranduil’s arm where the King had it pulled back to strike Legolas for a third time. In the same unmistakably unforgiving tone that the commander used to order about his soldiers, Glorfindel warned Thranduil, “That is enough.”

Turning to the commander, which gave the human a clear view of the King’s tearstained, reddened, and ancient face, Thranduil tried to yank his wrist free of Glorfindel’s hold only once. When the commander’s grip did not give, the Elf-King ordered Glorfindel, “Let go.”

The only one other than Estel, or so it appeared, who had the mettle to stand up to Thranduil, who was of noble deportment himself though from a station given to him and lost millennia ago, was Glorfindel. The Balrog-slayer cautioned Thranduil, “I will not stand idly by while you beat your wounded and grieving son to death.”

Thranduil did not try to pull his hand free again for it was beneath him to struggle when he felt that his orders should be followed, instead. His voice deceptively calm, the Elvenking told the commander, “He is dying already. Let go of me. He is my son, not yours, and I will do with him as I please.”

While Thranduil’s attention was upon Glorfindel, Estel was able to cast aside the excruciating agony of his belly and crawl forward to Legolas. The King’s hand that the commander did not currently hold was still fisted in the Wood-Elf Prince’s shirt. Deftly, quickly, and without care as to whether Thranduil might turn his rage upon him now, Aragorn slipped his arm under Legolas’ shoulders to hold his neck and head up – like one might cradle the fragile upper body of a newborn – and then wrenched the shirt free from Thranduil’s hand. Lifelessly, Legolas fell backwards, but in loving devotion, the Ranger caught the laegel before his head could hit the ground.

The King spared a moment to glare at Estel before he returned his anger to Glorfindel, repeating to him in a way that elucidated little of what event Thranduil was alluding to, though it was clear what he meant, “My son promised that he would always return to me. I will not let him break this promise, as well.”

“My Lord Glorfindel,” Ninan beseeched uselessly, but could find nothing to say afterwards that would calm the disagreement. The sentry would protect Thranduil with his life, but was currently finding it hard to instigate an altercation with Glorfindel when he agreed with the commander’s actions of keeping Thranduil from abusing the already battered Prince. Ninan walked forward to where the commander stood with his kneeling King’s wrist in hand, his face showing his doubt; this uncertainty was foreign to Ninan’s features, for normally the sentry was as stalwart and decisive as was Glorfindel, though without the same long years of experience in military matters.

Estel bent over his lover to lay his forehead against the laegel’s brow for a brief moment, his hands sweeping the Prince’s lank and filthy hair away from his face, before he placed his cheek near to Legolas’ mouth to feel for himself whether the Elf still breathed. He could feel the Wood-Elf’s humid breath against his skin. _Thank you, Ilúvatar,_ he prayed, although he knew that just because Legolas breathed now did not mean that he would continue to do so. And yet, when the Adan pulled back to look closely at Legolas’ face, to memorize every detail of the Prince that he could ere all life left the laegel, he noted that the Elf’s coloring was no longer tinged blue and though still cold, his flesh was warmer than before. Amazingly, Legolas’ eyelids fluttered and his brow furrowed. A short, barely audible, pained whimper slipped from the Silvan’s lips, which were returning to their normal, florid color.

 _He has done it,_ the Ranger thought in baffled hope. _Thranduil’s anger has brought Legolas back to us._

“Greenleaf?” he asked, his excitement drawing everyone’s attention to him and the Prince.

At hearing the Ranger say his son’s name, his wrist still held tightly by Glorfindel, the King forsook his argument with the commander. They had all missed the soft groan the Prince had made and already the laegel’s brow had gone slack, so no one else understood why Estel was suddenly thrilled.

He leant over the Prince again and placed his cheek alongside the Elf’s cheek, which now bore the imprint of his father’s hand. Whispering in the laegel’s ear, he sighed, “Greenleaf, my love. I am here with you.”

When he pulled away, the laegel’s bright eyes were open but not upon him – the Prince was focused upon Thranduil. Unconcealed fright lay over Legolas’ face. For Legolas to wake with his father bestriding him, his hand back as though to strike him – even if Glorfindel currently had it stayed – and his Ada looking upon him with an outrage that had yet to clear despite that Legolas was now sentient, had clearly provoked the Prince’s fear. Estel saw this. He saw his lover’s trepidation. He did not need Legolas to speak to perceive that the Prince was overcome by memories of being maltreated. Of course, Thranduil had never abused his son in the same way as the merchants or Mithfindl had in despoiling him, but the King now straddled his son’s thighs, loomed over him, and was about to strike him, which instigated the latent grief of enduring his father’s abuse over the many years in addition to reminding him of his more recent woes. Estel did not think about what he did next. His only concern was eradicating the source of the Prince’s fear.

“Get off him,” he growled at Thranduil while lowering his shoulder and preparing to ram it into the King’s side, to remove the Sinda from atop the Silvan; however, Elladan was quick to move. The elder Noldo strode forward and seized the Ranger’s tunic, effectively preventing Estel from getting anywhere near Thranduil. This did not keep the Adan from straining to be free; he could hear the seam of his tunic ripping along the shoulder, close to where Elladan had hold of it. Soon Elladan took the man’s upper arms in hand, instead, to keep him from getting free – just in case Estel ripped his tunic out of the Noldo’s hand.

“Estel, stop,” his eldest brother chided him, while the youngest twin, who had come to stand beside Glorfindel, told them all, “You are upsetting Greenleaf. Get off him,” he ordered Thranduil, forgoing his usual courtesy in speaking to the King, whom he despised for his treatment of the Prince but whom he and his twin typically tried not to irritate.

For his part, Thranduil stared at the human in perplexity of the man’s intentions in trying to attack him, but his head then swiveled to look at Legolas. The King finally noticed the wary fearfulness with which his son looked at him, and then took note of his position over the lately ravaged and mistreated Prince. Appearing almost apologetic, Thranduil swung his leg over Legolas, causing Glorfindel to release his hold of the King’s wrist, and once more, the King was kneeling on the opposite side of Estel. The second that Elladan let the human’s tunic go, Aragorn was leaning over the Wood-Elf again and took the Prince’s face between his hands.

Legolas was awake, he was sentient, but he was not entirely aware. Malnourishment and exhaustion, coupled with the harrowing events of the last week, had broken more than the Elf’s body. Whatever resilience to his grief that the laegel had utilized to get Estel to safety was now spent. His voice so soft that the Ranger had to read the Prince’s lips to understand him, Legolas inquired, “What is happening?”

“Greenleaf, you are alright,” he told the Prince, giving him a cheerful smile that felt false upon his face. Legolas tried to pull free of Estel’s hold, to look at his father, to be watchful for the King to hit him as Thranduil had been about to do, but Aragorn would not relent to let the Elf turn away. He wanted Legolas to see only him and so shifted his lover’s face back towards his own. “You are fine, aren’t you?” he asked, nodding in answer to his own question. “We are on our way to the valley. All will be well.”

In the Ranger’s calloused but kind hands, the Wood-Elf’s face crumpled a bit; his slack fingers, including the broken ones, fumbled at Estel’s side to snatch the hem of Aragorn’s tunic. “Estel,” the Prince murmured, pulling at the human’s tunic as if to bring him closer. The Ranger slid his arm back under the Elf’s shoulders and sat him upright – though Legolas could not sit on his own, Aragorn pulled the laegel to his chest, with Legolas reclined upon his side, which pained his aching belly but did not stop him. Again, the Prince asked, this time with enough volume to be heard, “What is happening?”

He looked at Thranduil. The King’s face was trailed in tears. He knew why Thranduil had lost control. It was not truly anger that had made the Elf-King hit his son – fear had taken over the King’s mind. Thranduil dreaded to lose Legolas so greatly that since losing his Queen he had pushed the Prince away to keep himself from ever feeling such despairing anxiety to lose another. And because of this, Legolas had always withdrawn into himself to flee his father’s hatred. It was the same with the trauma of his being despoilt by the Lake-town merchants – Legolas had pushed away his grief to avoid facing it, just as he had avoided confronting the distress he felt for his father’s unwarranted wrath.

But the human felt compassion for the King. Estel was not a father so he could only imagine what Thranduil felt to be on the cusp of losing his only child and the only member of family that he had left alive. Aragorn told the Prince without lying, “We thought you had stopped breathing because your breathing was so shallow. Your father was trying to wake you; that is all. Nothing is wrong, Greenleaf. Your Ada only wanted to wake you, to keep you breathing.”

If Legolas had heard any of the insults his father had hurled at him, then he might not believe this paltry excuse; however, the laegel’s tension slowly relaxed and the confused Silvan accepted this explanation, apparently not having heard or been aware of what his father had said or that the King had already hit his son prior to his rousing from insentience.

“I am awake,” he told them, giving the Elves around him a weak, faint smile. Even Thranduil was a recipient of Legolas’ easy forgiveness; in fact, the Silvan went so far as to reassure his King, “I am fine, Ada. I am sorry to have worried you,” he apologized, as he was apparently unaware of just how close to death he had been.

Aragorn pulled the Elf back to him and wound his strong arms once more around the Wood-Elf. Legolas did not try to move away. He lay limp against the Ranger, having no strength left to speak or move even had he desired to do either; however, the Prince was happy to be in his lover’s arms. Legolas sighed in contentment and nuzzled his head under the Adan’s chin so that he could rest his cheek upon the man’s collarbone.

_Thank you, Eru. Although I suppose I should be thanking Thranduil for beating Legolas awake._

Thranduil was staring at him. He could feel the King’s eyes upon him but did not want to look at Thranduil to see what anger for him lay upon the Elvenking’s face. And yet, when finally Elladan and Elrohir came to look over Legolas, gently tugging him away from Estel’s grasp, the Ranger saw that Thranduil was no longer irate. In fact, the King was staring at Aragorn with his eyes wide, his mouth slightly ajar, and a strange look upon his face that could have been gratitude, though Estel had not often seen the Elvenking look appreciative of anything but a glass filled with wine.

“Come, Greenleaf,” Elrohir was telling Legolas. Between the two of them, Elladan and Elrohir had the Wood-Elf standing. Although the Silvan’s feet were upon the ground, the entirety of his weight was supported by the twins.

“Since you are awake,” Elladan teased his Wood-Elf friend lightly, “you can end our argument. Elrohir said that you were the one who convinced us to switch out Lindir’s sugar pot with salt, while I say that it was Elrohir who got us into trouble that day, so thus his fault we had to muck out the stables in punishment!”

With Glorfindel’s help, the Ranger stood, though as soon as he was upright, he bent over upon pulling his belly’s torn muscles. And yet, he heard Legolas chuckle in amusement at Elladan’s statement, which was a better balm for the human’s ills than vilya would soon be. He finally stood only to find Thranduil had come to be of assistance to him, as well as the commander. He walked between the two elder Elves, both of whom had their hands out and at ready should he fall.

“Thank you,” the King whispered to him before they had reached where the twins were regaling the Silvan Prince with one of their mock arguments about some prank they had pulled upon Lindir when Legolas had been barely more than an Elfling and the twins behaving barely older than Elflings. Thranduil continued, hesitation in his voice, “Thank you for your kindness.”

Thranduil thanked him for not driving a wedge between son and sire with the truth – that is, that the King had been on the verge of beating his son to death for having the gall to die. Estel might have felt compassion enough not to tell Legolas of it, but he found it hard to accept thanks, when even now he wanted nothing more than to shake off the Elvenking’s helping hand and strike Thranduil as Thranduil had struck his son. But he felt Glorfindel’s grip tighten on his arm ere he let loose the invective lying upon his tongue and instead said vaguely, diplomatically, “Greenleaf has suffered enough doubt and heartache, I think, without adding to it.”

The Ranger’s words had an unintended effect. Ever had the human merely upset the King or riled him, but at Estel’s simple wisdom, Thranduil nodded and hung his head for a moment, until he once more raised it, saying quickly before they were close enough for Legolas to hear over the twins’ laughter, “You are right of that, Estel.”

Ninan was lingering at a distance, unwilling to get involved in his King’s private matters, but he came forward when Thranduil waved his hand at him, bringing his King’s horse closer to where the twins stood with Legolas. Knowing just what Thranduil would want – that is, to have his son ride with him again – Estel stepped away from the commander and King and to where the twins kept the Prince from falling to the forest’s muddy floor. Legolas’ battered face, which was now tinged newly red from the harsh smacks given to it by his father’s hand, lit into a smile just from seeing Estel. Without thought, the human walked right into the Wood-Elf’s body and wrapped his arms around the Prince, and while the twins let go of Legolas’ arms so that he could return the Ranger’s embrace, they remained at the two lovers’ sides should either Adan or Wood-Elf fall.

“Let me ride your horse,” he asked of Elladan, tensing his grip upon Legolas as if to keep his brother from taking the Prince away from him. “Greenleaf can ride with me.”

Elladan frowned; he turned to his twin to seek counsel for this request. His brothers knew that he was likely not fit to ride on his own, much less to hold and care for Legolas all the while, but they could not deny their human brother this. They had all seen that the Wood-Elf’s body was failing. With three more hours ride before reaching the Last Homely House, Legolas might still die ere they got him to Elrond, and neither twin wanted the Prince to die in his father’s arms, where he might now only feel fear or suffer his King’s lamenting wrath.

But then, much to Estel’s aggravation, Elladan and Elrohir looked to Thranduil, seeking his consent. The Ranger stiffened, his muscles contracting of their own accord to keep a tight grasp of his Silvan lover and a sudden fear arising that Thranduil would disagree and try to take the laegel away from him. After the Elvenking’s violent outburst, Aragorn would fight tooth and nail to keep Legolas away from his father, even though, through his violence, the King had brought the fading Elf back to them, and even though Thranduil had shown some remorse for his actions.

In the end, however, shamefaced and downtrodden, Thranduil nodded his assent. To save the Elvenking’s pride from being damaged too greatly, Glorfindel suggested, “Your and Elrohir’s mounts need a rest from the added weight, anyway. We will make better time if we switch riders. Come, let us leave quickly. The Prince needs Elrond’s care.”

The Ranger clambered up onto Elladan’s mount, careful to hide how much the action pained him. He settled himself as quickly as he could, his arms already out to help Legolas to sit before him. The quiescent Wood-Elf’s eyes were half-closed as the twins handed him up to the Adan. The Silvan could not seem to gather the strength to move his own limbs, so Elladan and Elrohir had to rearrange the young Prince so that he sat astride the horse. Even then, once the Ranger and Wood-Elf were settled, the twins stood on either side of them, their worried faces turned up to Estel, as if to gauge that the human was strong enough to keep Legolas from falling off the horse.

“Estel, are you sure –” Elladan began to inquire.

“I have him,” he convinced the twins.

He wrapped one arm around the Silvan’s chest to hold him flush to his own and used his other arm to wrap around Legolas’ waist, his hand lying intimately in the Elf’s lap. As if to belie the Ranger’s assertion, the Prince’s head toppled forward and the Wood-Elf groaned in pain. His heart skipping a beat to hear his lover’s aggrieved moan, Aragorn was quick to grab Legolas’ jaw and tilt the Silvan’s head back before the Elf’s whole upper body followed suit in tumbling forward. He rested Legolas’ head against his shoulder, tucking the Prince’s forehead under his chin. He could feel the Elf’s breath ghosting across his neck, which relieved his anxiety.

The twins finally walked to Elrohir’s horse, where they mounted quickly. With all horsed, they wasted no more time before Glorfindel led their procession onwards. This time, the commander would ride with the twins, King, Ranger, and Prince – just in case. They could not ride too quickly, given that Estel and Legolas were both injured, but they hurried as much as they felt safe to do so, to get to Imladris for the Prince’s sake.

“Stay awake, Greenleaf,” he whispered in the Elf’s ear. “Just stay awake and keep breathing.”

But Legolas did not hear. The Silvan Prince was already oblivious.


	22. Chapter 22

Estel was whispering in his ear. Half conscious, Legolas did not understand what the man was saying at first, but just listening to his lover speak was of comfort to him. When finally he opened his eyes, the Elf found himself able to focus enough to comprehend what the Ranger was telling him.

“…and we did not make it back to the valley before the blizzard began,” Estel was reminiscing to the laegel, whom the human obviously thought to be insentient, for he spoke in a rambling way that showed he was paying little attention to anything but his memory.

“It began to sleet. We were in a copse of pines that were straggly and young, with no shelter to be had anywhere close. It was the first time that we had gone out into the woods together during the winter. I thought I would freeze my ears off, Greenleaf. But upon hearing my chattering teeth, you gathered me in your arms and we huddled together under our bedrolls until the morning,” the Ranger wistfully reminded the Prince.

“And when dawn finally came, the snow had stopped and the whole of the mountainside and the woods glistened brilliantly with ice, as if clear jewels were hanging from every pine needle. The air was crisp and scentless. Hurry though we did through that deep snow, we still missed the entire winter solstice festival. Now,” Aragorn confessed in a lighthearted, conspiratorial whisper, “I am gladder to have been stuck in the woods with you – waking huddled in your arms, warm and snug against you, even though we were covered in snow – than I would have been had we made it back in time for the festival.”

Legolas smiled at hearing the Adan’s recollection of this memory. He had a multitude of memories that he cherished merely because Estel was in them. He could recall specific meals, games of stones, swims in the river, walks in the gardens, and simple conversations that were of little import except in that the human had been part of them, which had made them special to Legolas. Closing his eyes, he let the man’s softly susurrated story spin the tale in his mind, where it weaved a colorful tapestry within his imagination, invoking the smells, sights, sounds, and sensations of which the Ranger spoke.

That particular memory, however, was an elusive one for the Prince. He recalled that night they spent in the pines, but only the barest of details could he evoke. To the young Adan – who had likely already been enamored with Legolas by then since he had recently admitted to having fallen in love with the Wood-Elf around the time when the first dark hairs began to grow upon the Adan’s adolescent chin – being held in the Prince’s embrace all night had likely been a beloved event for an entirely different and slightly less innocent reason.

_I regret that we wasted so many years as merely friends. He has loved me since the day he met me, but fell in love with me when he was not yet an adult. Had he professed his love for me upon reaching his majority, would I have rebuffed him?_

Legolas could not imagine the answer to his question. The very conjecture of his having rebuffed Aragorn and thus missed out on the times they had spent as lovers threatened the Wood-Elf’s momentary peacefulness to be held in his lover’s arms now. Of course, had they never been lovers, the Prince would never have known what he was missing, but it was hard to imagine it since he and Estel had consummated their love for each other.

_I think that had Sven and Cort not happened upon us in the woods around Lake-town, then he might never have told me that he loved me, and I would never have had the courage to admit to myself, much less to him, that I loved him, as well. What would have become of me, then? Would I have had the fortitude to continue on in silent misery with the ghost of the happenings in Kane’s storeroom haunting my mind?_

The Prince was usually not one to dwell upon the past and wish that things could have been different. However, Legolas found himself now thinking as he had at least once a day since – had he and Estel never divulged their feelings for each other, then the Ranger would never have come to harm from Mithfindl. In fact, as he had told the Adan the night before Legolas fled the valley to hunt Mithfindl, the laegel reluctantly rued the day that he had first met Estel, since by his own thinking, he had brought nothing but sorrow to his adored Ranger. Though a faint smile was still upon his face, tears began to well in Legolas’ lidded eyes.

_But the past cannot be changed. Mayhap I am selfish to be glad of it, but I cannot be sorry to have been given the chance to enjoy Estel. My life would have been poorer for not having known him, even if his would have been richer._

“But my favored one, I think,” the Adan went on to say, “is the very first time we went into the woods together. Elladan and Elrohir were supposed to take me into the woods that summer but were not yet back from escorting Arwen to Lothlórien, and so you decided that we would go without them – just you and I. We stayed in the forest for nearly the whole summer, coming back to the valley only when we absolutely needed.”

Estel paused to snicker softly. Under the dark, thick lashes of his eyelids, Legolas saw Elrohir turn their way upon hearing the Ranger’s snigger. Elrohir gave his human sibling a confused, sorrowed frown before he looked over Legolas to gauge if the Silvan was still alive and relatively well. Disinclined to endure Elrohir’s questions or care, Legolas feigned sleep until he turned his attention to Elladan’s back, which was right in front of the younger Noldo since he rode behind his brother on Elrohir’s horse.

If Estel noted his Elven brother’s regard, he did not pause but continued, “It was the longest I had spent away from the Last Homely House. For the first time in my life, I felt like an equal to you or my brothers. You even let me keep watch, although we were still within Ada’s realm of protection, and thus so no watch was necessary. But I didn’t understand that at the time. I thought we were in the wilds. When I managed to stay up until dawn for my whole watch, you said nothing, though I could tell that you were surprised – and perhaps even proud of me.”

For a few moments, the Ranger was mutely lost in his own thoughts, forgetting to share them with the Wood-Elf. And then, suddenly, the human laughed heartily, drawing his brothers’ attention once again. This time, the Noldor looked upon the Adan as if he had gone mad, for though they could hear Estel telling his tales to Legolas, they did not understand what the human found to be funny.

“Yes, I think you were proud of me – at least, until you noticed that I had packed your boots with wet grass and crumbled twigs while you slept. Do you remember that, Greenleaf?” the once more chuckling human asked the Elf rhetorically, thinking that Legolas was not sentient to answer.

But the laegel was listening. His dolorous regrets and his intention to avoid the twins’ mothering by faking sleep were forgotten at the Ranger’s humorous nostalgia. He murmured to Aragorn, “Yes. I do remember.”

Behind Legolas, Estel’s entire body tensed as he realized that the Prince might now be awake. In trepidation, as if wary that he might have imagined the Silvan’s barely audible response, the human queried with cautious hope, “Greenleaf?”

The Wood-Elf replied quietly, his words halting and broken, as just speaking took more energy than he had, “I remember… the next night I hid your boots in a tree… for revenge.”

The arms around him tightened in a doting embrace and Estel laid his cheek upon the Silvan’s head. “You are awake,” the Ranger whispered in joyful, artless, and unabashed relief. He blew out a great and heavy sigh, causing the laegel’s filthy hair to flutter about from the force of it. “Yes, you did hide my boots, but when you saw that I feared to climb that high in the tree to get them and was too mortified to admit it to you, you climbed up yourself without giving me a hard time.”

Again, the Elf smiled to be reminded of those times long past, when the Elf and Adan’s lives were much simpler, when the human had nothing about which to worry except growing up and the Silvan’s life – though already full of strife and worry – had not been tainted by subjugation and grief. Before he thought better of his words, the Elf considered aloud, “I would give the rest of my years to relive even one day of that summer that we spent in the woods alone.”

Immediately, the Prince regretted his thoughtlessness, for to Estel, the laegel sounded as if he wished to die, when all that Legolas had truly meant to convey was how much those memories meant to him. Aragorn held his tongue but the laegel did not need his lover to speak to know he had upset the human and ruined the quiet, pleasant moment between them. Intending to do his best to bolster the Adan’s souring mood, the Silvan tried to think of another memory over which they could reminisce. However, Legolas’ neck hurt from where it was twisted to lie upon the Ranger’s chest and he could concentrate on nothing but the singularly agonizing stiffness accumulating in those cramped muscles.

He tried to shift, to stretch out the ache, but when he groaned while attempting to move, the human’s hand quickly shot up to keep Legolas from doing so. Estel clasped the Silvan’s chin between his gentle, calloused fingers, telling him, “Careful, meleth nin. Be careful.”

By his hold of the Wood-Elf’s face, Estel lifted the Prince’s head forward and then aided him into shifting his injured upper body to turn him the opposite way, so that the other side of his head reclined against the human’s chest. It was not much more comfortable but at least relieved the crick in his neck for now.

They moved barely faster than a trot but not fast enough to be a canter; and yet, on the path upon which they rode, there was a small decline as they neared the foothills that surrounded the valley. This allowed their tired horses to keep a steady pace with the relatively easy descent. Legolas had ridden this path before. He had no idea where they had been when last he had been awake – when he had woken to find his father hovering over him and his hand back as if to clout him – but he knew now that they were close to Rivendell. They had only been riding for half an hour, actually, which had been one of the longest half hours of Estel’s life, though the time had slipped by the sleeping Wood-Elf quickly enough. They had a little over two hours ride before reaching the valley.

“Go back to sleep, if you are tired,” the Ranger suggested kindly. Luckily, it seemed that the Wood-Elf’s tactlessly spoken allusion to wishing to die to relive their shared past was already forgotten. Aragorn slipped his hand over the laegel’s face, skimming Legolas’ loose hair behind his ear and out of his eyes ere he dropped his hand to rest once again in the Elf’s lap. “I will speak to my brothers, if I must, to pass the time.”

“Back to sleep? Is he awake?” the Wood-Elf heard Elladan ask with optimism. “We thought you were doing all the talking,” the elder twin teased his human sibling, snorting in amusement as he added, “Besides, will you be speaking _at_ us, as you have Legolas this past half hour or so, or _to_ us.”

“Greenleaf,” Elrohir prompted with a pleased laugh, not letting either Legolas or Estel reply to his twin’s bantering. Since the Wood-Elf’s head was now turned away from where the twins rode beside him and the Ranger, Legolas could not see Elrohir’s equally pleased smile when he grumbled, “Leave it to you to sleep while everyone else worries over you.”

The mirthful twins usually took to laughter and jokes when upset or worried, and while they were currently both upset and worried, Legolas’ wakefulness was eliciting true mirth from the overwrought Noldorin brothers. The twins and Ranger had feared that upon his slipping back into sleep the Wood-Elf might not awaken again, as he had almost done before Thranduil smacked the life back into his son.

“That’s because Legolas has always been lazy,” the elder twin confided to Elrohir in a mockingly loud whisper. He added, “Must be the privilege of being a Prince. Had we been born to someone of any importance, we too could live a life of luxury.”

The Silvan harrumphed in mock irritation, took a deep breath, but still found that he could no more than mutter his retort when he said, “So says two Noldor Lords whose father is one of the most powerful Eldar in Middle Earth. And more importantly, two Noldor who had never gutted their own deer until I shamed them into it.”

“Messy business, that. I’ve never been fond of steaming piles of innards, I admit,” the younger twin chortled, conceding the veracity of Legolas’ statement.

For the twins, to have the Silvan Prince awake was relieving – to have Legolas as a willing participant in their banter was even better. To the Noldorin brothers, this indicated that the Wood-Elf was not wallowing in despair – or so they hoped.

To accommodate his twin brothers, Aragorn slowed the pace of his borrowed horse while Elladan did the same, such that they were now stopped along the path and the twins could look over the Prince without having to pull him from horseback. Glorfindel and Thranduil, who rode quite a good distance in front of them, had yet to notice that the younger ones of their party had stopped.

“Lift his shirt, Estel,” Elladan asked of the human, who did as he was bid. “Let us inspect his wound.”

From where they sat astride Elrohir’s horse, the Noldor did their best to check the grave injury made to Legolas’ chest. Their prodding and shifting of his bandaging stole the laegel’s breath; he began to pant with the effort of holding back the agonized wail that was determined to escape his clenched teeth and push past his hard-pressed lips.

“Brothers,” the Ranger cautioned Elladan and Elrohir, who could not see Legolas’ face to know how much they were hurting him. Even without being able to see the Prince’s face, the human could tell, nonetheless, by the way in which the Silvan’s body began to shudder with each breath.

“Ai Valar, Greenleaf. We are sorry,” Elrohir apologized, carefully straightening the blood-soaked bandaging and helping Estel to draw the overly large shirt back down his emaciated torso. “We will stop soon for a rest, I think, and change that bandaging. It is nearly soaked through.”

He could not find the breath to respond.

“Greenleaf?” the human asked worriedly when still the laegel panted to try to control the lacerating pains that shot through his torso.

“Lord Glorfindel!” came a call from far ahead of them, interrupting the twins’ lachrymose apologies and the Ranger’s mounting fear for him.

Having nearly doubled over from pain, Legolas tried to sit straight again, to see what was happening. At his sudden, sharp intake of breath when his attempt twisted his upper chest, once more the Ranger reached up and stopped the Prince’s movement. “Please, Greenleaf. Please. Be still and be careful,” the human plaintively repeated to the Wood-Elf with discomfort tingeing his own voice, though whether it was from the Adan’s wounded belly or from sympathy in watching the laegel’s suffering, Legolas did not know.

“Elbereth’s flaming ass,” he heard Elladan swear under his breath, though this was said with excitement. “That’s Erestor! It’s about time that Ada showed.”

_Elrond has come._

Legolas felt all tension leave the arms holding him. Estel’s head hung downwards until his forehead rested upon the laegel’s shoulder. He knew why the Ranger was so relieved, for the Silvan’s Minyatar would use vilya upon the Prince. They all believed that the Wood-Elf would live should his body be healed. The Prince did not share their confidence. 


	23. Chapter 23

Legolas was already safely in the twins’ care, the Wood-Elf’s feet dragging the ground as they carried him by under his arms over to where a temporary shelter was quickly being set up under Erestor’s instructions. Elrond, Erestor, and the Imladrian servants had been travelling in hopes of meeting the Ranger, Prince, and others along their way, and were well prepared to tend to the injured members of Glorfindel’s party. Before Elladan and Elrohir had the laegel even half the distance to where the servants were setting up a tent without walls, Elrond was there before Legolas. As if the Wood-Elf Prince were a babe and caring not a whit whether the Silvan would mind being treated in such a way while others were around, Elrond swept an arm under the Wood-Elf’s knees and another behind his back, and then lifted the struggling Prince from the twins’ hold of him. Easily, Elrond bore Legolas to the small clearing along the path where cushions were being laid out for the Peredhel to place his patient.

Estel could not hide his long and suffering groan as he dismounted. As he slid down the side of Elladan’s horse, his belly hit the iron stirrup. In a rush to remove the sudden source of agony, the human stumbled backwards, causing him to lose his balance. Aragorn would have fallen to his ass in the mud had not someone steadied him. Before he could turn to thank whoever had kept him upright, the King of Mirkwood evinced that it was he who had aided the Ranger by asking Estel, “When last did you eat? You are unsteady on your feet as if you were hungry.”

“I vomited the last thing that I ate, but before that, it was…” the Ranger began, trailing off as he tried to piece together the events of the last few days.

 _When last did I eat?_ he asked himself. _It was at the outpost, wasn’t it?_

“It doesn’t matter; you will eat now, that is certain, even if Elrond has to feed you spoonful by spoonful,” Glorfindel assured the human as he hefted Estel’s weight on the side opposite of Thranduil, such that the Adan had a golden-haired Elf on either side. The commander sounded just as comforted as Estel felt that they were found. The Ranger could have walked on his own, he thought, but he accepted the aid anyway.

As they ambled towards the tent that was now raised, Aragorn watched as Erestor hurried to adjust the layer of thin cushions upon which Elrond would place Legolas; these oilcloth covered cushions were usually used on the family’s stone garden benches. With great care, the Peredhel laid his loved burden down. At once, though, Legolas struggled to sit up, and while at first Elrond tried to keep him from it, one look upon the Wood-Elf’s face made the healer help the laegel to sit, instead, for he could see that the Prince was having difficulty in breathing while lying down. Elrond was not quick to release the Wood-Elf once done, but enfolded his arms about Legolas and held him to his chest for a moment to show his relief for the Prince to have been found alive. With a quick wave of Elrond’s hand, the Imladrian sentries and servants removed themselves into the surrounding woods to give Elrond’s family, friends, and Thranduil and Thranduilion some privacy. Ninan, who had been following behind his King, followed the others when Thranduil gave him a nod of the head to do so.

“Ion nin, you are once more riddled with bruises, abrasions, and cuts,” the Peredhel Lord of Imladris lamented with a woeful sigh. The healer’s kind hands flitted over the various wounds of which he spoke, as if unsure where to begin in trying to heal the laegel. “You look as if I had never used vilya upon you!”

Having come to aid their father in tending to the Prince, Elladan and Elrohir laughed outright at their Ada’s words, which in turn caused their father to give them a consternated scowl; however, when Elrond leant back to look at the Wood-Elf and took note that Legolas was smiling at the twins, the Peredhel forwent his crossness and inquired of the Silvan Prince, “I take it that my sons said the same thing upon first seeing you.”

Having finally reached the tent and had not Aragorn been looking at his Elven lover, he would never have understood what the Prince was saying, for Legolas could not seem to gather the strength or air to speak more loudly than in a whisper and they all had to read his lips to figure out what he was telling them. “They did, and they warned me…” the Wood-Elf started but stopped midway through to take in a breath before he continued, “that you would not be pleased.”

Elrond smiled at Legolas, though this cheer disappeared when the Peredhel lifted the laegel’s borrowed shirt, exposing the many new contusions made to Legolas’ torso. The healer then removed the blood-soaked bandaging over his chest, exposing the hollow left by the arrow. “Is this the worst wound on you, Greenleaf?”

Legolas nodded but it was the twins who spoke, simultaneously telling their father, “Yes.”

The Peredhel let the loose shirt fall back down but did not replace the bandaging. Instead, the half-Elf looked about for Estel, and once he saw the human was near, rapidly stood and left Elladan and Elrohir to support Legolas in sitting. He spared a bow of his head to show his gratitude to Glorfindel and Thranduil for their aid to his human foster son. “And where are you injured?” the Peredhel asked.

He would rather that his father see to Legolas first, but he knew why Elrond was tending to him before the laegel – Elrond wanted to appease the Prince’s worry for Estel first, to ease his aching faer before easing the aches of his rhaw.

He told his father, “The injury to my belly is infected but I think it is clearing up on its own.”

“And that is the only injured part of you?” the Peredhel inquired as he lifted up Aragorn’s tunic to see for himself the wound of which they spoke.

In the diffuse sunlight of the overcast day, the inflammation upon the human’s stomach appeared no worse than it had been when last he’d seen it, though it was now smeared in some kind of unguent that the twins must have slathered on him while he was unconscious earlier. Gently, Elrond prodded the flesh around the open wound, one eyebrow arched crossly as he noted that the stitches he’d placed in the injury had long since pulled free.

In truth but hoping to hurry his father along into aiding Legolas soon, the Ranger replied, “Yes, it is the only injury. I am well otherwise. Tired and hungry, but otherwise no worse for wear. This wound can wait until Legolas is seen to, Ada, please.”

Elrond did not respond, but gave a pointed look to Glorfindel and Thranduil, who released their hold of the Adan and stepped away, apparently knowing just what Elrond intended to do. It took but a moment for the master healer to assess with vilya’s help that the human was being truthful and injured nowhere else; despite the Ranger’s claim to be well and not in need of it, the Peredhel placed one hand upon the Adan’s belly. His touch was so light that it was barely perceptible, but the human felt the very moment that the ring of magic began to pulse through his aching stomach. At once, the pain was gone, the intermittent, sharp pangs from his movement were no more, and the vestigial roots of his currently dormant fever were extirpated entirely. He did not need to lift his tunic to know that the hewn, festering flesh of his belly would now be knitted together as if the weeks it would otherwise have taken him to heal had passed by all at once. He might not even have a huge scar, as he’d been destined to have after days of the wound remaining open after his stitches had pulled out. Not that Aragorn cared about scars – he had numerous scars and since they didn’t bother Legolas to look upon, they didn’t bother Estel.

His Elven foster father gave him a morose smile before gently pushing at his shoulder to incite him into walking towards where Legolas was seated upon the cushions. The Ranger felt better than he had in days, and though still hungry and tired, his body felt renewed. Without pain, he sat upon the cushions near to the Prince, anticipating that his father would soon perform the same wonder for Legolas. Indeed, Elrond followed behind Estel, shooed the twins away from the Wood-Elf, and then resumed his position of kneeling next to the laegel.

“I have feared our whole journey here, short a time though it was, that you would refuse to use vilya’s restorative powers upon my son – or your own, for that matter,” King Thranduil admitted. He and the commander had been given the only two stools about so as not to have to sit upon the ground; it was upon this that the Elvenking now perched, appearing much like Glorfindel in that both looked at ready to jump up at a moment’s notice.

“Then your fears were unfounded.” Again, the Peredhel sighed deeply, his gaze lighting upon and lingering over the Wood-Elf Prince’s battered face, and his hands following suit as they glided over the dark, hand-shaped bruises and long, scabbed over gash that wrapped around Legolas’ otherwise pale throat. “I will do whatever I can for Greenleaf.”

Upon hearing this, Thranduil’s entire body seemed to melt. The Elf-King lifted a hand and wiped at his brow. Erestor was pouring and handing around sturdy, iron tumblers filled with sweet wine. Gladly taking his, Aragorn downed it in a single, long gulp, causing Erestor to give him a chiding smirk. When last he had seen Erestor, the advisor had been irritated with him for his having left Legolas alone, the night before the Elf had fled the valley. It was good to see that Erestor held no grudge for the Ranger’s temporary lack of determination in helping the Prince. As the advisor made his way clockwise around the tent to the commander and King, Erestor handed Glorfindel a cup, their hands lingering upon the iron tumbler, their fingers brushing over the other’s digits, and for a few moments their eyes locked. In those moments, Estel saw an entire wordless conversation pass between Glorfindel and Erestor. But then, the advisor moved on to hand the last cup to Thranduil.

“Just water, if you please, or if you do not have any, I will be fine,” Thranduil told Erestor politely. Although the King took no notice of everyone’s surprise, Estel glanced around the small clearing to see the same shock that he felt himself. He had never thought to hear Thranduil decline an offer of wine.

Absently, the Ranger asked himself, _I wonder – has Thranduil drunk wine at all since wakening from his opium-induced sleep?_

“And what has prompted this?” the Elf-King asked in true curiosity, his attention only for Elrond and Legolas, while simultaneously nodding his thanks to Erestor as he accepted the water handed to him. “Why do you make another exception today in using vilya?”

“I have already explained to you why I do not use vilya for drastic measures.” His head low so that his intricately braided hair hung over his face, Elrond answered vehemently, “Yet, I will make every exception to this belief today. There is no lesson to be learnt from Mithfindl’s violence, no reason for Greenleaf or Estel to suffer any pain, for none of it was earned by any of their actions. They do not deserve to bear it for a moment longer.”

Elrond shook his head at the wine that Erestor tried to hand him, though he then stopped the advisor by seizing his sleeve and took the tumbler anyway so that he could give it to Legolas. However, upon offering the wine to the Prince, Legolas refused by turning his face away. The Ranger was unsurprised. The laegel did not much care for wine – mostly due to how it turned his Ada into an enraged, violent lout – and rarely drank it.

The Peredhel sat the tumbler upon the ground beside him and went on to explain softly, “I would be lying if I did not admit that I feel guilty for what has happened. I cannot help but to feel at fault. For two of my own people, in my own house, no less, to have perpetrated this entire travesty… well, I am ashamed to say that I never expected it, nor had any foretelling or clues of this dark plot. The least that I can do is to remove the physical wounds that Mithfindl and Faelthîr have caused.”

No one held Elrond accountable for what had happened, but the Peredhel held himself so, it seemed. It was with a fatherly, guilt-burdened smile that Elrond now used vilya to heal the Wood-Elf. As he laid his hand over the wound to Legolas’ chest, the Prince gasped at the feeling of having vilya’s power working to knit together his torn flesh and fragmented ribs. But once done with healing this – the direst of the Elf’s injuries – Elrond stopped. The master healer waited as Legolas tested vilya’s work by breathing in deeply. When the Prince was able to breathe normally, without pain, he beamed at his Minyatar in thanks, who lovingly swept a hand over the younger Elf’s forehead, which was still as bruised, abraded, and pale as the rest of him.

“Not that I am not grateful, since that wound was the worst, I am sure,” the Elvenking said evenly in an attempt to keep from belying his words by sounding ungracious, “but his other injuries must surely pain him, as well. Can you not heal those?”

Estel had been thinking the same thing. As were they all, Aragorn was tired of seeing Legolas bruised, cut, and bleeding, and he wanted for his lover to feel well and healthy. At Thranduil’s question and the Ranger’s pleading look, the Peredhel explained to them, “This time, we will heal him more slowly, I think. I do not want to overwhelm him as we did last time. I had not intended to go so far as to mend his wounded thigh or his body so completely as I did.”

“You cannot think he will react as he did last time and try to stab Estel again,” Thranduil commented in incredulousness. The Elvenking rose from his stool and walked to where Elrond had the Silvan Prince. He did not kneel down next to his son, speak to Legolas, or show him any fatherly affection as Elrond was doing. Despite that Aragorn was quite clear upon the fact that Thranduil did love Thranduilion, the King was still more concerned with keeping up the appearance of formality and disinterest.

Thranduil had not been castigating Legolas for his actions days previous in attacking the Ranger, but the Silvan Prince needed no one else to cast blame when he still felt the shame for his actions, despite knowing that he had been unable to control them. At the reminder of how he had harmed the Adan, Legolas’ head fell forwards in shame. Elrond and Thranduil were speaking of Legolas as if he were not there or capable of understanding them, which was beginning to irritate the Ranger. _They should ask Greenleaf what he wants, rather than decide it amongst themselves,_ the aggravated human declared to himself, though he kept his opinion quiet for now. As he was sitting beside the laegel, Aragorn reached out, took the fraught Prince’s hand, and squeezed it in the hopes that he would remind Legolas that he held no grudge against him. And truly, wasn’t it Estel’s opinion that ought to matter most on the subject, since he was the one who had been stabbed?

“I do not think that at all,” Elrond replied simply.

In all of Middle Earth, there were few of the Eldar who were as esteemed, erudite, and stately as Elrond, but the Peredhel did not care for what others thought of him when it came to showing his family that he loved them. Even in front of the Wood-Elf’s own father, Elrond had no qualms about what his audience might think when he lifted Legolas’ face by his chin, leant his own forward, and rested his forehead against the Prince’s in a brief but meaningful show of fondness. Elrond could not seem to quit touching Legolas, but neither could Estel, for that matter, as he wanted to be certain that in this moment of the laegel’s unwarranted shame that he did not have to bear the complementary criticism of the scar’s voice.

His father moved away but did not release his hold of Legolas’ chin. “More quickly than would I normally, but not all at once,” the elder Elf finally spoke directly to the Prince, explaining, “I will mend your injuries, ion nin. I will not let you linger in pain.”

To Estel, already his lover looked more salubrious, was breathing better, and his coloring was no longer as translucently white as before. From his Minyatar’s touch, promise, and with Aragorn’s silent encouragement, the laegel smiled faintly and kept his head upright, the moment of dishonor forgotten while surrounded by his lover, friends, and friends whom he loved as family.

Thranduil was appeased by Elrond’s statement and moved back to sit upon his stool, having still not offered Legolas any comfort, much to Estel’s annoyance. But then, after watching the King thrash the Prince hours earlier out of fear of losing him, the Ranger assumed, _Thranduil has shown us all that he loves Greenleaf more than he lets on. Now, he will continue his farcical aloofness to save his pride, I wager._

Moving the opposite way around the tent now, Erestor began handing out ceramic bowls that were laden with food – bowls that the advisor filled himself rather than have one of the servants brought near to do it. Already, the Ranger could smell the bread and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. When handed his bowl, the human peered down into it, his mouth watering from the sight of the humble but welcome repast.

“Eat something,” his father instructed from where he still knelt by Legolas just beside Aragorn. The Peredhel left no room for argument, although Estel had no intention of arguing.

Now that his belly no longer pained him, the hungry Ranger was glad to be eating and took the offered bowl, which contained within half a small loaf of fresh bread, a generous hunk of sharp cheese, and a handful of fresh strawberries – all of which had been brought from the House to feed the travellers whom they hoped to encounter. Aragorn first picked up the bread, tore from it a huge piece, and stuffed it into his mouth at once. This earned him a benevolent smile from his father. When younger, his Ada had often chastised him for eating too quickly and too much, but now, Elrond was happy to see that his human son was eager for nourishment.

When Elrond took a bowl for Legolas, the human knew at once that the Silvan would refuse to eat. He was not surprised when he was proven right.

“No, thank you, Minyatar,” his lover was telling Elrond, who was trying to hand the Wood-Elf a piece of bread that the Peredhel had broken from the loaf within his bowl. “I feel as if I will be sick should I try to eat right now.”

“You have to eat, Legolas. I will not watch you starve yourself in grief,” the Elf-King warned from across the way.

“Just a little, Greenleaf,” Elladan asked with his own mouth half full of half chewed strawberries. Elrohir was tossing his berries into Elladan’s bowl and taking his elder twin’s cheese in return, but paused to add, “You haven’t eaten in days, it is obvious. You are wasting away to nothing, Greenleaf.”

Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, and Thranduil all watched Legolas, as if their concerned stares might compel the Prince into eating. Overwhelmed, Legolas once more turned his gaze downwards. It was bad enough that the Wood-Elf was being treated like a child by them, but now they were acting together to badger Legolas into doing as they wished. When a child and even since then, Estel had been on the receiving end of this type of harrying many times – that is, having his Elven foster family and their kith gang up on him out of concern for his well-being, but doing so in such a way that he felt foolish and weak for it.

And so, despite that he wished Legolas would eat and because everyone seemed at ready to pester the young Silvan into consuming the food, Aragorn took up his lover’s cause and thus Legolas’ side in the argument. “He was unable to keep even miruvor down yesterday, and has had only water. He does not starve himself,” the Adan gently argued, “but between the overdosing and then withdrawal of poppy milk making him nauseous, the loss of blood from his wounds, and his exhaustion, Greenleaf is very likely to do as he has said and will sick up anything that he eats. Give him a few hours’ time, at least. Waiting a little longer will not hurt him.”

With a genuine appreciation that hurt the human’s heart to receive, as it showed that indeed the Prince felt to be belittled by their concern, Legolas smiled at the Ranger, though no one else seemed pleased by this. No one argued further, however, for they could all see the wisdom in Aragorn’s words and could perceive the gratitude upon the Prince’s face for his lover believing him and taking his side in the matter. Even Elrond conceded to Estel’s pleas but only partially. The Peredhel pointed towards a flask and Erestor fetched it for him; after thanking the advisor, Elrond poured the wine from Legolas’ untouched tumbler into Estel’s emptied one, and then poured in some of the liquid from the flask into Legolas’ now emptied cup.

“If you will not eat, drink this, at least,” he told the Silvan.

Dutifully, Legolas nodded and took the cup offered to him. Elrond once more smiled at the Prince in unconcealed paternal devotement, ere he shifted away and stood to begin searching through one of the small chests that sat on the back of a horse cart. _Ada brought so much with him it is no wonder that it took him so long to encounter us._

The horses Elrond and his retinue had ridden, along with the ones from Glorfindel’s search party, were well away from the camp, as were all the sentinels and servants. They had set up their own shelter in a clearing farther along the path, which allowed Elrond’s family and friends some privacy. He could hear their laughter, the neighing of the horses, and the bustle of the others as they went about their own meals and rest, though in their own camp, there was only brooding silence.

Estel watched Legolas stare into the tumbler, swishing the liquid around within it for a few moments; however, when Elrond found for what he’d been looking in the chest, he turned back to Legolas to gauge whether the laegel was drinking the liquid as promised. So as not to disappoint his Minyatar, Legolas lifted the cup to drink from it. When the Prince’s shaking hand nearly fumbled the tumbler and spilled it, the human threw a half-eaten strawberry into his bowl and scooted upon his rear so that he was sitting hip to hip next to the laegel. Aragorn took the Elf’s hand in his own to steady it, and then guided the laegel’s hand and thus the cup to his lover’s mouth. From the smell of the liquid within, Elrond had given Legolas a cup of strongly brewed but tepid medicinal tea that was diluted with vegetable broth. In several quick gulps, the Silvan finished the tea, an act that earned him a pat on the shoulder from Elrond, who had come back to Legolas with a small blanket in hand. Aragorn settled back to finish his meal, but remained right next to Legolas.

Although it was summer, the weather was currently fair, and even then, though the elves were not wont to suffer from the cold temperatures as humans were, Legolas was shivering. It could have only been that the Wood-Elf’s blood loss had lowered his body’s temperature. It could also be that after a week of being dosed with the poppy medicines repeatedly, the Wood-Elf was undergoing some mild sort of withdrawal from them, as those unfortunate souls who became dependent upon the tincture might endure. However, as he popped the last bit of cheese into his mouth and set his bowl to the side, Estel watched as his foster father wrapped the thick, warm blanket around the quaking laegel and knew, _Greenleaf is caught in grief at this very moment. His body fails still because his soul does not have the will to carry on._

As he’d been famished, Aragorn finished his meal long before the others, and with everyone quietly enjoying their food and drink, they sat in relative comfort upon flat cushions covered in similar shades of taupe oilcloth. The fawn colored tent that the Imladrians had erected was also of the same water resistant cloth and had a smoke hole in the middle, such that they could build a fire even if the rains started again – although with the humid, hot weather right now, they wouldn’t need one unless water needed to be boiled or meat cooked. Not from the surrounding woods but having been carted by servants from the Last Homely House was a small store of cut and dry lengths of firewood, some of which was already set in the middle of the tent, awaiting only the clearing of a fire pit and a spark. Thoroughly enjoying his being able to move freely without pain, Estel reached down to pull off his boots, which felt to be glued to his soaking wet feet.

 _Let it never be said that Ada travels unprepared,_ the Ranger told himself of his surroundings. When he travelled, he usually slept on the ground and ate what he could hunt or forage. This was luxury in the wilds to Estel. _All we need is Lindir with his lute to have a picnic. An unhappy picnic it would be, to be sure, however._

Elrond secured the blanket around the Prince, settled back into sitting beside him, and then prompted, clearly expecting to hear what had transpired since last that he’d received word, “Now tell me… should we be searching for Mithfindl? And how came you to be so bruised again, young one?” he asked of Legolas.


	24. Chapter 24

Although it had been imperative to get to the valley as soon as possible for Legolas to undergo Elrond's healing, it was no longer as imperative to continue now that the Prince’s direst wounds were mended. They were only a couple of hours ride away from Imladris, but no one was in a hurry any longer. Estel gauged the time of day while wondering when they might leave for home. Through the opening in the middle of their shelter, the afternoon sunlight filtered down dimly. It was a diffuse and gloomy light, but since it wasn’t raining, the Ranger felt happy to have it. He needed a bath, as did Legolas, and if he had his way, the moment that they got to Imladris, he and the Wood-Elf would climb into the tub. After that, he wanted to climb into the Elf’s bed, curl up next to his lover, and sleep for a day or two. All of this hinged upon the Silvan Prince living long enough for it to happen. And yet, the Ranger was hopeful. Being that they were now amongst his family, Estel refused to consider the possibility of his lover’s death from grief.

Elrond had Legolas’ hand in his own, where he was massaging the Prince’s swollen, broken fingers. As Estel looked on, the swelling there receded, the bruised, dark flesh began to return to its normal alabaster color, and although he could not see it, the Ranger knew that the fractured bones would be mended, as well. One by one, his father was keeping his promise and healing the Silvan’s injuries. Elrond could have healed the young Elda all at once, as he had done days previous after the vicious beating that Mithfindl bestowed upon him, but the mind and body were not meant to endure such magic often and in such significant amounts. The Wood-Elf was under enough stress without chancing to add any more.

When Legolas did not answer his Minyatar’s question as to whether they ought to be searching for Mithfindl and why the laegel was severely bruised again, the Adan looked beside him at the Wood-Elf. Legolas’ hands were moving under the blanket; had the Ranger not known that the scar – the painful memoir of the Elf’s torture that had been written upon his flesh – was permanently erased, he might have thought that the Elf was gripping the mar to silence the fell voice that haunted him. Aragorn had expected that his father would request for them to relate what had happened, but had wanted to speak to his Ada alone about it or at least hold off until later, once they were in the valley. He slid one hand under the blanket that lay over the Silvan Prince and fumbled against the Elf’s leg in search of his lover’s hand, at least until Legolas’ hand eagerly found his.

He didn’t know what Legolas had told the twins, his father, or Glorfindel during the time that the Adan had been insentient, but Elrond had not had the chance to hear of any of it and his curiosity would need to be pacified. Moreover, Elrond had yet to learn whether Legolas and Estel were still in danger from Mithfindl. “Mithfindl is dead, slain by Legolas, just as he promised that he would do,” the Ranger explicated to his Ada, while hoping that this inquisition would be a brief one. “His body is back in the woods, though I could not tell you exactly where.”

“No, Mithfindl’s body will be brought back to the valley. Legolas insisted upon it,” Glorfindel corrected the human. “For the sake of Lord Thialid.”

 _That’s too bad. I rather liked the idea of the carrion eating Mithfindl,_ he deplored to himself but did not say aloud, since he did not want to upset Legolas with his vindictiveness. He thought just as Glorfindel had hours earlier told Thranduil, though Estel had not been awake to hear it, _Greenleaf is kinder than am I. I would have left Mithfindl to rot._

Patient as always, Elrond listened to this but waited expectantly for more – more which Estel was not forthcoming in saying while Legolas seemed to be ignoring all of them, for the Silvan was still and quiet, his only movement a gentle sweep of his thumb across the Ranger’s wrist where their hands were entwined under the blanket.

Erestor went around, gathered the bowls, and placed them on the back of the cart. Once this was completed, he walked to where Glorfindel sat with the intention of sitting down on the ground near to the commander, but at his lover’s approach, Glorfindel stood from his stool and offered it to Erestor, who took it with an adoring smile. Then, Glorfindel seated himself on the ground right before Erestor and leant back upon the advisor’s legs. Although they could have been merely two close friends seated as such, Aragorn saw as Erestor immediately reached out and surreptitiously, intimately tangled one of his fingers in Glorfindel’s golden hair, wrapping it about his finger and then unspooling it. The sight of the two Elven lovers made the Ranger turn to his own lover. He sat hip to hip with Legolas and held tight to the Elf’s hand, but at noting how the tremulous Silvan’s body shimmied in discomfort, Estel soon decided that he was still not near enough. The Wood-Elf must have felt the same or must have desired the Adan’s comfort, for when Estel extricated his hand and scooted away a bit, Legolas reached out to him as if fearful that the human intended to abandon him. Estel was doing no such thing. If he had his way, he would never leave the Prince’s side again.

When still neither Estel nor Legolas offered anything else, Elrond turned his questions to Glorfindel, asking the commander of the Imladrian army, “Who did you send to fetch his body? Are they bringing it back to the valley or burying it where he lies?”

Estel stopped paying attention to the conversation. He was absorbed by how his Greenleaf looked at him. The Ranger’s chest felt tight and his stomach queasy at the fear he saw upon Legolas’ face – and for what, he did not know. Aragorn had only shifted away from Legolas so that he could find a way to move even closer, but from just this, the Elf was caught in utter panic, the Ranger could tell. Forgetting that they were amidst anyone else, he raised his hand and cupped the side of the Prince’s face; in turn, Legolas rested his cheek in the Ranger’s hand and squeezed his eyes shut. _He is with his family. Why is he so fretful?_ the human speculated.

Just from the short time of his being around Elrond and the recuperative power of vilya, Legolas’ bruises, scrapes, and cuts were already mending much more quickly than would they have normally – even for an Elf. In fact, Estel suddenly realized that his foster father’s constant touches to the Prince’s body were subtle efforts to help the Silvan to mend without outright and quickly using vilya’s power. The once scabbed over cut to the Elf’s throat was now a subtler, pink line of newly formed flesh, the empurpled skin of his swollen throat was already turning the brownish yellow of a faded bruise, and the sallow, bloodless appearance of Legolas’ face was slowly becoming incarnadine as color returned. He imagined that under the Silvan’s clothes, the injuries he couldn’t see were healing just as the others.

But the laegel was still famished and very much exhausted. Just the act of sitting upright was taking its toll upon the Silvan, it seemed, for Legolas was hunched over at the shoulder and waist – or, maybe it was just the weight of his torment and humiliation that weighed down the Prince. Either way, Estel thought to offer to help Legolas to lie back upon the cushion to rest, for he greatly needed some sleep. And perhaps the Prince could have lain down to rest now that his chest wound was healed completely and his breathing was no longer hindered, but since Elrond was determined to ask his questions, Legolas was not likely to get any sleep for a while.

Aragorn leant forward and pressed his cheek on the side opposite of his hand, and then pressed the Elf’s face between his hand and cheek, while he whispered in Legolas’ ear, “Do you wish to lie down?”

Against his cheek and hand, Legolas shook his head in negation. Around them, the others were still speaking, but of what, Aragorn could not have guessed. Abating Legolas’ fear was his only aim. Legolas had not been defiled again by Mithfindl though he had endured the Noldo’s debasing words and fondling, and it had been less than a week since Legolas had twice been raped by Mithfindl, so the Ranger was wary to make the Prince uncomfortable with being too near or too affectionate. However, he could not sit there and do nothing while Legolas suffered through his sorrow if by any means Estel could soothe him.

“Then can I sit behind you? You can lean back against me,” he offered.

At this, the Wood-Elf nodded readily. And so, taking his idea from Erestor and Glorfindel, and grateful beyond words that his tormented lover still desired his presence and touch even after all Mithfindl had done to Legolas, the Ranger shifted until he sat behind the Silvan Elf. He removed the blanket from the Prince so that it would not be caught between his and the Elf’s body, and then aided his Greenleaf into sitting against him with his rear wedged snugly in the crux of the man’s thighs, the Adan’s legs bent at the knee and spread wide, and the Silvan’s back against the man’s chest. At first, the Elf rested his forearms on Aragorn’s knees as if they were armrests, but when Estel wrapped his own arms around the Wood-Elf’s torso, Legolas hugged the Adan’s limbs to his upper chest with one arm and with the other twined his fingers with Aragorn’s digits, and then held their clasped hands together to rest familiarly but innocently in the Prince’s lap. With a deep inhale followed by a contented, slow exhale, Legolas laid his head upon the man’s upper arm where it crossed high upon his torso. Once the two were settled, Estel realized he had not replaced the blanket, but with a pleased look upon his face to see that Legolas wanted Estel’s affection, Elrond draped the blanket over the Wood-Elf’s front and his legs. It was not needed anymore, anyway – the moment that Aragorn had wrapped himself around Legolas, the Silvan’s constant shaking had stopped.

Finally listening in on the conversation once more, he heard Glorfindel telling Elrond that the sentinels he had sent to fetch Mithfindl’s body were to follow their trail back to the valley with the corpse, to which Elrond responded, “Good. We can let Thialid decide what to do with his son. Once Greenleaf left the House, I sent a message via raven to Lothlórien, to Thialid. I had not intended to send him word until I knew what became of Mithfindl, but once you left,” the Peredhel said to Legolas, “I knew that Mithfindl would not be returning to his father alive, so I told Thialid to make haste back to Imladris. Before he left for Lothlórien, he told me that he would be returning several weeks ago, lest he decided to stay longer. So he will be here within a couple of weeks if he stayed and was there to receive my missive, else he is already on his way and did not get my missive at all, in which case he could arrive at any moment.”

If Legolas heard his Minyatar, he did not show it. The Wood-Elf Prince’s attention was intentionally not upon the conversation concerning his dead tormentor’s body but for the loving embrace in which he was held, while Aragorn thought of how Legolas’ warmth, smell, and the sound of his breathing had become more of a home to him than the Last Homely House. As he had thought many times since first he and Legolas had the misfortune of being found by Cort and Sven on the trade route in the Mirkwood forest, Estel thought now, _I have come too close to losing him too many times over these past months._

The Ranger pressed the side of his head against the laegel’s head, his mouth close to the Prince’s ear. He was tempted to give the shell of the Elf’s ear a quick buss, but as he had also thought many times over the last few months, the Ranger worried how Legolas might react to even an innocent display of affection such as that. _I will not lose him now. I cannot lose him. And I must do nothing to push him away. It is too important that he allow me near him._

During the last week, when Mithfindl had turned Legolas from his second family and lover, Estel had despaired of ever having the Prince’s trust again. He had it now – or so he assumed – and he would do whatever it took to keep it. Legolas’ life depended on it. Estel was the one who had pulled Legolas from his despondency and sorrow the last time they threatened the Silvan’s life, all because of how abundant was the trust between the Elf and Ranger. The remembrance of how he had been unable to comfort or touch his lover for several days over the past week made him hold on all the tighter now, which earned him another contented sigh from Legolas. The human did not consider how anyone else might judge this intimate seating arrangement, but when he looked over his lover’s shoulder, Aragorn saw that Thranduil was giving them a scowl.

 _Surely, he has not suddenly changed his mind about accepting Legolas’ love for me; although, now that Mithfindl is dead and Legolas mostly healed, it would be just like Thranduil to renege on his promise of acceptance._ However, when Thranduil noticed that Aragorn was staring at him, a genuine smile graced his hard features. _If he is not mad at me, then is he angered with Greenleaf for some reason?_

However, once he turned his attention back to what was being said, he realized that Thranduil was irate over Glorfindel’s suggestion that they give Mithfindl a burial upon his father’s lands. The Elf-King stopped smiling at Estel, looked down and to his side, where Glorfindel sat upon the ground, and complained bitterly, “He deserves no grave marker, no mourners, and certainly no rites that befit an Imladrian warrior. He is a stain upon all that Elrond has built in the valley.”

No one disagreed with Thranduil’s estimation of Mithfindl’s character, of course, but now was not the time or place for serious debate over what to do. In the end, if Thialid did not arrive in time to decide for them, they would be burying Mithfindl out of respect for Thialid and not to commemorate Mithfindl. To change the subject, Elrond gently prompted the Elf and Ranger, “I have heard from Kalin what transpired up unto the point of his becoming unconscious,” the Peredhel commented, insisting, “but I wish to know more.”

With the servants and sentries gone, it was now just Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Estel, Legolas, Thranduil, Glorfindel, and Erestor; and thus, only family remained to hear this explanation. And from their looks, they were all quite eager to hear what would be said – especially Thranduil. Perhaps the King expected his son to regale them with a tale of his valor and heroism in slaying Mithfindl, but the true story, though no less evincing of Legolas’ bravery and aptitude, would not be very heroic.

Wanting to keep Legolas from their curiosity, the human chose to be the object of their attention and so began, “After leaving Kalin at the outpost, I went back to the river, which was too dangerous to cross again by swimming, so much had it risen since getting Kalin across it. Fortuitously, I saw that a tree had fallen into the Bruinen nearly from bank to bank, and waited until sunrise so that I could see better to scale it. Even more fortuitously for me, Legolas had come back to find Kalin and searched near the river, which is why he saw me trying to cross and thus saw me when I fell in – I would have drowned had not he seen me, had not I waited until sunrise, or had he not thought to look at the river for signs of where Kalin had gone. So once again,” the Ranger quipped with a quick smile and gave his Elven lover a gentle buss to the back of his tangled, bone dust encrusted hair, “Greenleaf saved me from drowning in the Bruinen.”

Everyone but Thranduil knew the story of how the Prince had saved the Adan the very first night of their meeting, but the Elf-King did not ask about the reference. Beside him, his father had grown tense. Estel was fine now, yes, but Elrond did not like to hear about how his foster son had nearly died. The twins, however, were amused to hear that Aragorn had once more needed to be saved from the rapids, and Elrohir joked, “And we didn’t even have to throw you in this time, muindor!”

Elladan opened his mouth to add his own teasing but promptly shut it when Elrond turned his scowl upon them. In his arms, he felt Legolas’ body judder. At first, he thought that the Elf’s shivering had recommenced, but then realized that the Silvan was silently chuckling. Finally speaking up, Legolas told his twin friends, “Estel was much easier to pull out this time, at least. And he didn’t black my eye.”

Again, when seeing that the Prince was enjoying the reminiscence and teasing from the twins about even so serious a topic as Aragorn almost dying, Elrond’s irritation fell from his face. In his effort to complete their tale so that Legolas could sleep, the Adan hurried on, adjusting his hold upon his Wood-Elf as he said, “We decided to walk along the river so that we could be found easily, rather than try to find Mithfindl, since Greenleaf was injured and I was feverish. We stopped for a short while so that I could see to Legolas’ injuries and try to set his broken fingers, and I asked him what you ask us now – what happened with Mithfindl." The Ranger left out the argument that he and the Elf had held over the matter, nor did he tell them what Legolas had said about what happened with Mithfindl. It was not his story to tell. He also refrained from mentioning their long discussion about the periapt and about how Estel had been treating Legolas as Thranduil did.

“At the outpost, Camthalion had given me a small flask of miruvor to ease my tiredness and to aid Greenleaf, when I found him. He also gave me food and clean bandaging, but those I lost along with my pack when I nearly drowned,” the Ranger lamented wryly. “But the miruvor managed to survive with me. Legolas and I drank from it and walked for several hours. Eventually, though, Mithfindl caught up to us, following my tracks in the muddy ground. With the rainstorm and because we were moving quietly, he did not see us before Legolas saw him. Greenleaf drew his bow and prepared to strike him dead before Mithfindl even knew what hit him. But I thought Greenleaf was hallucinating again and was aiming for me, so I jumped towards him to avoid his arrow, not knowing that Mithfindl was behind us. And so, the arrow hit Legolas rather than me, while Legolas’ arrow then missed.”

He abruptly realized that he had said more than he ought to have said when the Elves around him perked up. Aragorn’s tale was momentarily forgotten upon their hearing this; Elrond was the one who asked in blatant concern, “Hallucinating? Have you been hallucinating, Greenleaf?”

 _Wonderful,_ he chastised himself. _I would rather have spoken to Ada about this privately, to save Legolas the humiliation of his father knowing._ It was too late now, however.

“It is nothing, Minyatar,” the laegel evaded. Legolas twisted in the Adan’s arms, his unease causing him to seek more contact with Aragorn’s form, though Estel was wrapped as tightly around Legolas as he could get.

“I would hear of this, as well,” the Elvenking ordered none too kindly. Thranduil snorted in disbelief and challenged his son, “This scar that you bore, the one that spoke to you – it never caused you to hallucinate. Although, I suppose hearing a voice not of your own inside your head is hallucination enough. Tell us why, if you went to find Mithfindl where you said you were to meet him, that you did not kill him then?”

Elrond quieted Thranduil with a mordant frown, while everyone else seemed just as discomfited as was Legolas by the King’s sudden antagonism. Turning back to the Prince, Elrond then shifted so that he sat directly in front of Legolas, which blocked the Silvan’s view of the twins, Glorfindel, Erestor, and especially Thranduil. “Please, Greenleaf. What happened with Mithfindl? Where did these bruises come from?” the Peredhel asked, bringing up again as he fiddled with the collar to the Prince’s borrowed shirt, “Is that what has caused your hallucinating?”

Clearly, Legolas did not want to speak of this. Once more, Aragorn considered taking up his lover’s cause and telling them all to be quiet, to leave the laegel alone, and to quit badgering the Prince into speaking when he wished to sit in peace for a while. _Is it not obvious that he was beaten nearly to death again by Mithfindl? Is it not enough that Mithfindl is now dead?_ the Ranger uncharitably thought at his father and Thranduil. But again, the Ranger realized that his father wanted more information so that he could be of aid to Legolas. Already, the Wood-Elf had been placed under the imprecation of a periapt, drugged, and manipulated by Mithfindl, so it worried Elrond that something similar might have occurred to the Silvan Prince. The periapts were now all accounted for, but in the Trollshaws, beyond the realm of Elrond’s protection, less subtle forms of magic could have been used against the Prince.

After a moment of contemplation wherein Elrond smoothed the younger Elda’s shirt and kept his paternal, encouraging smile upon the Prince, Legolas nodded to himself first and then to his Minyatar, letting the elder Elf know that he would answer the questions put to him.

To explain himself, the laegel chose to divulge what happened prior to his meeting up with Estel. “When I left Kalin, I went to where I was to meet Mithfindl. I thought to trick him into believing that I was still under the periapt’s sway,” Legolas told his audience quietly, succinctly. With his chest healed, the laegel could breathe just fine, but still he spoke as if he could not find the air to speak loudly. “But, thinking that I was his to do with as he pleased, Mithfindl began to fondle me; I could pretend no longer. My long knife became caught in my belt and I could not pull it before he realized that I was not under his sway. I fought back, even breaking his nose again, but I was foolish to think that I could overcome him physically, even with the element of surprise working in my favor. He beat my head against a rock until I nearly lost consciousness, almost slit my throat, and eventually dragged me into a cave, where he tied my hands behind my back before I was truly aware of what was happening.”

Although they sat so close that it should have been hard for Estel to tell if his father looked at Aragorn or Legolas, the Ranger knew that his Ada’s sharp and inquiring gaze was upon him at hearing this. The Peredhel had found no evidence of Legolas having been ravaged again, had apparently not noticed the bite marks upon his chest, but from Legolas’ story, he now worried that his Silvan son had once again been raped. To answer the Peredhel’s questioning look, Aragorn shook his head very slightly and then watched as his Ada’s shoulders dropped and the anxiety upon his face cleared with relief to know that Legolas had suffered no more indignity to his person – or at least, not to the same degree.

“He told me that he truly did not care if I lived or died, that he wanted Estel’s torment more than mine now. The scar was speaking, agreeing with all that Mithfindl said, telling me to lie back and take what he would force upon me. Telling me that I was Mithfindl’s whore, as I was Cort, Sven, and Kane’s whore,” the laegel emotionlessly told them, as if he were reciting from a dull history book. “I told him to take what he wanted from me, to kill me and let it be done, to leave Estel alone, but he wanted to torment Estel, to make him watch what he would do to me, and then make me watch him kill Estel. I could not let that happen. When he was pulling my trousers off, I reared up and hit his broken nose again with my forehead, and while he was hunched over in pain, I managed to slip my arms under my legs and to the front.”

Thranduil was looking anywhere but at his son or at anyone else in the clearing. Erestor had hold of Glorfindel’s fingers between his own, their joined hands resting on the commander’s shoulder, and either they were unaware or uncaring that they were blatantly seeking a lover’s comfort while listening to the Prince’s horrifying tale. The twins looked between them. They had heard the laegel speak similarly on the mountainside months ago, when first Legolas had told them of his being attacked in Lake-town and then with Estel by the trade route, and so knew that the Prince was withdrawing from what had happened. It was this very means of coping with his grief that had created the sentient, despicable scar. Elrond noticed the Wood-Elf’s increasingly distant demeanor, as well; he reached out for Legolas to add his own heartening touch to Estel’s constant solace.

Though the Ranger had heard some of this, Legolas spoke in more detail now than he had before. _We should stop this. He should not be speaking of this right now,_ he wanted to tell his father. The Ranger had the elusive idea that Legolas wished to tell them what had happened so that if he died of grief, they would know how it came to pass. He was right of this, actually, for Legolas was thinking this very thing.

As if by telling them he could expel the sickness of faer that the events he described had created within him, Legolas soldiered on. “He had left his dagger upon the ground. We both lunged for it, fighting over it. I was able to grab hold of the blade, and though I stabbed him in the chest, he deflected my swing and it was not a fatal wound. During our struggle, I fell into a pit at the back of the cave, while Mithfindl was fortunate enough to avoid it. The pit was filled with foul water and moldering bones. The walls were too high to climb or for Mithfindl to pull me out. He left me there while he hunted for Estel, telling me that he would return for me once he caught Estel. But he also left me two phials of the poppy milk to drink, to ease my death.”

He did not need to see Legolas’ face to know that retelling these events was causing his lover to withdraw ever further into himself, to detach from these events as his despair mounted, but the Prince still did not stop. He soothed himself by saying, _If Greenleaf were experiencing grief so great that he was on the cusp of releasing his faer, Ada would put a stop to it. He would know, wouldn’t he? They all felt and knew when Greenleaf almost released his faer days ago, when we were all in his rooms, after Mithfindl first beat and defiled him._

Even still, the Ranger had to bite his tongue to keep from trying to halt this inquisition. His father’s interest was out of concern for Legolas’ welfare, not merely to pacify his curiosity, and certainly, hearing what had happened to Greenleaf would benefit everyone who loved the Wood-Elf in that they would be able to help him recover from the awful things perpetrated against him, but Estel did not like chancing Legolas’ life in this way. He especially was not comfortable with Thranduil being present for this, despite that he was the one who most had the right to know, being the Prince’s King and father. The Elvenking had a propensity to use any of his son’s perceived weaknesses against him; Legolas’ confessions now would provide him with plenty of fodder.

Telling everyone more than what he had admitted to Aragorn, the Prince explained, “I am not sure how long I was down there, though I later learnt that it was almost two days. There was only absolute dark. I had no hope of getting out. I searched for a way to climb once I managed to hack the rope free from my wrists, but found nothing. I had no water except the stagnant water in which I had to sit, no food to eat, and could hear little but the rain and thunder from outside the cave. And the poppy. I had the poppy.”

The others sat enraptured by the Prince’s story. Legolas had not yet answered his Minyatar’s question, though in a roundabout way he was doing just that. The Ranger knew that the seemingly disinterested laegel was feigning his indifference to his own tale of woe. But then, Estel also knew what Legolas was soon to admit to his friends, his Minyatar, and most especially to his King.

“The scar spoke to me constantly. It told me what it has repeatedly told me… that I am a whore for the amusement of others and that I ought to die. I wanted to die. I could not die – not willingly. I could not fade and leave Estel to Mithfindl. But I thought I might go mad.” Under the blanket, the Elf and Ranger’s hands were still clasped together in the Silvan’s lap. The Prince’s grip suddenly became so tight that the human winced. “I drank one phial of the tincture, hoping that it might be enough to kill me, or that I might fall into sleep and drown in the water of the pit.”

Although no one responded verbally to Legolas’ revelation, Estel could see all of their faces even if Legolas could not see them around Elrond, and so could view the Elves’ sorrow to hear that the Prince had been so hopeless that he wished to die rather than suffer a slow, agonizing death from hunger or despair. Had any of them been in the Prince’s place, however, they might have chosen the same, and this, too, did Estel see in the way that they gazed at the Silvan with sympathy. Well, all except for Thranduil gazed upon Legolas with compassion; to Estel, it looked as if the King was flushed with humiliation.

“I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt,” the laegel told them. He could hear the smile in the Elf’s voice when he spoke. “I dreamt wonderful dreams, of hunting and playing and being out in the woods. I dreamt of all of you, of my Naneth, and Estel most of all. I woke when the water in the pit began to rise and was sorrowed to find I had not died. I tried to find the other phial of poppy milk, to drink it so that I might die while having those pleasant dreams again, but by accident, I knocked the phial into the water and could not find it.”

Legolas was not telling them the whole story – this was evident in how he glossed over the fear and hopelessness that he only hinted at, emotions born from his certainty to die in a dark, dank pit, filled with mephitic water and crumbling carcasses – but what he said was enough to portray how desperate he had truly been.

“I sat there, lamenting that I had not just let Mithfindl molest and use me as he had intended to, for at least then I could have died more quickly. Better yet, I might have lived past his abuse to be of aid to Aragorn. I fell into sleep again, slumbering for a while longer, though I had no way to track the time inside the pit and could not tell you for how long I slept before waking again to find that the water had risen once more.”

Finally reaching the part of his story where he would answer Elrond’s question, Legolas writhed in the Ranger’s arms a bit, his discomfort not physical but his efforts to relieve it so. “Whether it was by the poppy or my grief, I hallucinated, yes. A bright light shone down from the cave’s floor above. And there stood Estel,” the Wood-Elf whispered. In the Ranger’s arms, his body as close to the Adan as he could get, still the Wood-Elf shifted to get nearer, which caused Estel to tighten his embrace. Everyone noted the Prince’s attempts seemingly to disappear inside his lover’s hold of him, to hide or to lose himself in Aragorn’s devoted, stalwart warmth. “He spoke to me. One moment, he was a child, the next a young man or the adult he is now, and once even an old man with grey hair and greyer whiskers, but ever was his smile kind and patient, loving and heartening. He reminded me of my promise to kill Mithfindl to keep him safe, which ended my desire to die at once.”

It wasn’t until the Peredhel lifted one long fingered, elegant hand to wipe at the Prince’s face that Estel understood that his lover was weeping. He saw his twin foster brothers wipe at their own faces. Thranduil’s face, however, had grown hard and cold. _It must be difficult for him to hear that when most his son wanted to die, it was I whom Greenleaf thought of, dreamt of, and hallucinated for comfort._

“I begged him not to leave me, to stay with me until I died, since I thought I would still die of hunger or thirst, despite wanting then to live to help Estel. But the scar began again, telling me that if Estel died, then it was his just due for being fool enough to love me. It told me that Estel was dead already, that he had been tormented by Mithfindl as promised.” The Silvan chuckled in sickening self-contempt. “But I would listen to it no longer. I could not sit in that pit and wait for death when Estel’s life was still in danger. I screamed at the scar to be silent; it has not spoken since. But I did not just drive away the scar; I drove my imaginary Estel away, also, leaving me in the dark and alone once more.”

“How did you get out of the pit, then, Prince?” Erestor was absently stroking Glorfindel’s shoulder. And still, both the commander and advisor did not care that Thranduil could see their affection or they were too caught up in Legolas’ sorrowful story to notice, for normally, the two were very careful to keep their relationship secret to anyone outside Elrond’s family.

“The water. When I hallucinated Estel, I saw the water was high enough that I might be able to reach the edge of the cave’s floor, since I could float far above the pit’s bottom. Of course, I didn’t know if I had also hallucinated that, but in the end, it turned out to be true. After searching for some time, I finally found a foothold. I was able to hoist myself over and out of the pit. Mithfindl was after Estel, Kalin – to my knowledge – was still in the forest, likely bleeding to death while waiting for my return, and I knew that Estel would be out looking for me. I wasted no time and fled to where I had left Kalin. Shortly thereafter, I saw Estel at the river.”

Elrond had taken to stroking the Prince’s face, a task that should have been done by Thranduil, in Aragorn’s thinking. Instead of comforting his son, the King was being standoffish and cold to the Prince. They sat in silence for a short while, with each of them ruminating over the laegel’s admission. More than anyone, Thranduil appeared perturbed by Legolas’ hallucinations, though why this was so, the Ranger could only guess. _He has more reason to think his son is mad, that his only heir and family is now a lunatic._ Indeed, the Elvenking crossed his arms over his wide chest, leant back in his chair, and then crossed his legs at the knee, a dour scowl once more upon his face.

Elrond’s worry, though, was gone. He told the Wood-Elf, “I would not fret, Greenleaf, about your hallucinations. It was likely the poppy combined with the strain of being trapped, wounded in the dark.”

“Even if it had not been, had I not seen Estel, I would have died in the pit, and then Estel might have drowned in the Bruinen,” the laegel told his Minyatar. Elrond’s easy acceptance of his story and his generous exhibition of adoration for the Wood-Elf had eased the Silvan’s mind and soul, which let him further admit with a sincere smile, “I could have died happily with my imaginary Estel there, even knowing that he was not real, but I am even happier to have made it out to find him, to have been able to drag the real Estel from the river.”

It must have annoyed Thranduil further to hear that Legolas was happy to have lived only in that his living saved Estel. Gruffly, Thranduil cleared his throat to garner everyone’s attention before he asked of his son, “Enough wallowing in your despair. It is over. Tell us instead of what happened with Mithfindl. Estel says your arrow failed to fell Mithfindl. How then did you manage to kill him since you had failed twice already?”

Inside his arms, he felt the Prince tense at his King’s anger, the ease that the Peredhel had fostered disappearing in a split second. If Thranduil were feeling the need to vent his anger on someone, he would not do so on Legolas – Estel would make damn sure of it. The Ranger took up the thread of conversation, “As I was saying earlier, thinking Greenleaf aimed for me, I shouted at him and dove towards him, knocking his aim off its target, and drawing Mithfindl’s attention. Mithfindl had Legolas’ bow and quiver, and though he aimed at me, because I jumped the arrow struck Greenleaf, instead. Then, he was upon us, another arrow notched and at ready to kill one of us. I tried to distract him away from Legolas in hopes that I could attack him, but he struck Greenleaf, knocking him unconscious.”

While Estel dithered for a moment, considering whether to admit that Mithfindl’s molestation of Legolas had been the cause for his attacking the Noldorin warrior, the Prince came out with it, telling his friends and father, “I woke when Mithfindl flipped me over, when the arrow pulled free from my chest. He was threatening Estel with my defilement by telling him all that he would do to me while forcing Estel to watch. He cut the ties to my trousers and began to fondle me again, riling Estel with questions of how he was forced to watch Sven and Cort, telling Estel that he could join in while he despoilt me.”

The Ranger observed Thranduil’s face grow as dark and clouded as the skies overhead were swiftly becoming. The story that the King had been hoping for, the story that would negate the last few months of his Prince’s madness, weakness, and perversion, the story that might offer the King a glimmer of hope that his son might recover from his grief – that is, that his son had somehow won in a battle of power and skill – had turned into an altogether different tale. Clearly, Thranduil was not pleased to be listening to it.

Moreover, or so it seemed to Estel, it must have distressed Thranduil to have so many others know of his son’s apparent feebleness in protecting himself. _Or perhaps he is just upset to hear that his son suffered again at Mithfindl’s hands,_ the Ranger tried to defend the King to himself. _Perhaps he glowers because he wishes that he could have prevented or aided in lopping off Mithfindl’s head._ Determined to give the Sinda the benefit of the doubt and his decision as to whether to gloss over the details of Mithfindl’s attempt to debase the Wood-Elf decided for him, Estel once more took over the telling of events. “When Mithfindl touched Greenleaf, all rational thought left me. I reached for my broadsword and Mithfindl came at me. But I did not know that Greenleaf was faking his insentience in hopes of an opportunity, so I thought then that I would die, that Mithfindl would make good on his promise to torture Legolas and kill me. Again, Greenleaf saved my life, for I could not have hoped to outmatch Mithfindl in speed or strength.”

Raptly, the twins, Glorfindel, and Erestor listened to Aragorn’s words, while Elrond was now stroking the Silvan’s shoulder and arms. This led Estel to assume that the perceptive master healer could feel the Prince’s mounting sorrow, which further led Estel to trying to end their relating of their tale as quickly and concisely as possible. The rain was soon to start again; commencing its earth rattling, cacophonic thunder, the storm clouds from afar were coming their way, although Aragorn had the feeling that they would remain under their shelter for a while yet. There was no haste except for the Adan’s rush to relieve his lover of the inquiry.

And so, Estel said truthfully but pointedly, emphasizing Legolas’ bravery, “One moment, Mithfindl had my own broadsword in hand and was prepared to gut me with it. In the next moment, despite his bleeding like a stuck pig from being shot in the chest with an arrow, somehow Legolas was standing behind Mithfindl. And somehow, Greenleaf managed to grab his long knife from the ground where Mithfindl dropped it, moving so quickly and quietly that he drew no attention to himself. He grabbed Mithfindl by the back of the head before Mithfindl even knew what was happening. Mithfindl made the mistake in thinking Greenleaf would give in to a mere fatal wound, as if Greenleaf wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to end him for threatening to kill me and for what he had done against you, his father and King,” he said to Thranduil. The Adan did not need to remind everyone of what Mithfindl had perpetrated against the Prince, and so did not mention it.

Estel paused to gauge whether his storytelling was having its intended effect. The twins were grinning at him, knowing just what Estel was doing, for they were often prone to giving their stories harmless embellishments, as well. Under the cover of the blanket, Legolas poked the Ranger in the thigh, since he knew just what the human was about, also. Thranduil was blank faced but his eyes were slightly wide, as if he were a young child listening to a captivating bedtime story, while Glorfindel was nodding in appreciation of the Wood-Elf Prince’s fortitude. Estel did not dare to look at Erestor or Elrond out of fear that they would be giving him one of their chiding frowns, as they would both be aware that Estel was aggrandizing Legolas in his tale.

As neither his brothers nor lover stopped him from continuing, Aragorn gave them the conclusion, “Mithfindl had no chance once Legolas had hold of him. Greenleaf slit Mithfindl’s neck from ear to ear, so deeply and quickly that he nearly decapitated him. He threw Mithfindl’s lax body out of his way and came to see if I was well! As if he weren’t the one with a hole in his chest!”

Finally, the King was smiling again. “Well done, ion nin,” the Elf-King praised. Lifting his water glass as if in toast, Thranduil hailed, repeating what he had told Legolas earlier that day, “I knew that you would do it. Let it never be said that you do not keep your word, Legolas, or that you are not first to defend your King and father, as any good son ought to do!” the King said, taking a swig of his water as if it were wine.

Clearly, the King was willfully ignoring several important facts – firstly, Thranduil was the one who often told Legolas that he was a liar who did not keep his word, when in fact, the only time Legolas had intentionally not kept a promise to his father was when he left Mirkwood for Imladris months ago. Secondly, it was also Thranduil who often accused the Prince of being unfaithful to his homeland, his King, and his father. However, to his credit, the King had been the only one of them who had been willing to leave Legolas alone in the woods to find Mithfindl, to exact his vengeance. Everyone else had been worried the Prince would die of grief before finding him or would be injured in the process. Only Thranduil had been willing to let his son do what he must, what he had needed to do to salvage his sanity, his mind, and his body from Mithfindl’s claim. And of course, no one said otherwise. Elladan, Elrohir, Erestor, and Glorfindel all toasted right along with Thranduil. Beside the Silvan and Ranger, however, Elrond did not participate in their toast.

Something about the way in which the Peredhel looked at Legolas was causing his lover strife; Aragorn could tell this by the way that the Prince turned his face down from his Minyatar’s kind gaze. Being that he was no Elf, Estel was unsure if his Silvan lover was experiencing the pangs of grief that he had felt often over the last week, the ones that caused him to grab at his chest as the emotional pain manifested itself physically. Nonetheless, the Adan could feel Legolas’ tension mounting – despite his close contact with the laegel, despite that his Minyatar was now lovingly fiddling with his filthy hair, and despite that Thranduil now looked as pleased as Estel had ever seen him.

Legolas had not voiced his worry to Estel that he feared what Elrond, the other Imladrians, or Thranduil would say of his slaying Mithfindl, but the perceptive Ranger suddenly realized that this might be the case. _How foolish of me. I have been touting Greenleaf’s killing of Mithfindl as if he slaughtered Melkor himself, but I bet that Greenleaf is not as pleased to have killed one of the Eldar – even when warranted – and fears to be shunned for it._

“Greenleaf,” his father said to get Legolas’ attention. The Wood-Elf faced his Minyatar, seeking absolution. Elrond gave the Silvan the understanding, kind smile that he ever wore for his children. Placing his hand along the Silvan’s jaw, he trailed his thumb along the Prince’s predominant cheekbone as he said, “Thank you, Greenleaf, for saving Estel’s life.”

Legolas did not respond except to nod. No one asked any further questions, nor did they speak amongst themselves, but the quiet was comfortable, with the only sound in their shelter the rumbling of the distant thunder and Elrond’s soft humming. The human laid his head down atop the Prince’s head, which was once more reclined upon the upper arm that the Adan had wrapped over the Wood-Elf’s chest. Legolas’ breath was slowly evening out, his body relaxing into the Ranger’s unrelenting embrace. Estel was exhausted. Around them, the others finally began speaking to each other rather than sitting around and watching Legolas and Estel, which meant that the Elf and Ranger might be able to find some rest.

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

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Legolas could take it no longer. If he did not escape the cloying pity of those around him, he might go mad. Yes, the Prince’s body was now mostly healed. However, without the constant distraction of his imminent death and overwhelming pain of his myriad injuries, Legolas had nothing left on which to focus except for the agony of his faer.

The Elf felt as if he were lost at sea and Estel was his anchor – without the human, the Elf would float in the miring current of his despair, farther away from any hope and away from the shoreline where there was a possibility of salvation. But as his anchor, Estel also kept Legolas immobile. He was unable to drift farther out, to drown in the maelstrom of his grief, but likewise unable to swim against the tide, to crawl his way out of this sea of sorrow and onto shore.

 _I cannot do this. I cannot,_ he argued with himself, although he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that he could not do. A deleterious shiver ran along his flanks and in response, Estel shifted and tugged at the blanket over top the Elf, as if it were the temperature causing Legolas’ body to shudder. _But I cannot do this to Estel, to the twins, to Minyatar, or to my father._

The only solution he could see was a simple one. If Estel were his anchor, if the human’s palliative presence kept him alive but barely surviving, then he would need to remove himself from his lover’s presence. He would need to cut the ties between them. And then, Legolas would learn whether he had the will to swim or the longing to sink.


	25. Chapter 25

The Prince was still and quiet. Just when Aragorn thought that his lover might have fallen into reverie, very softly so that no one else might notice – which was unlikely, as they were all listening to Elladan and Elrohir speak of some silly exploit they had accomplished as Elflings – Legolas asked, “Can you help me, Estel?”

“What do you need?” he responded at once, apprehension creeping down the Ranger’s spine like a raindrop dribbling down a windowpane. He removed his hold of Legolas and shifted so that he could see the Prince’s face. Once more, the Ranger marveled for a moment at the difference in the laegel’s wounds; while it was still noticeable that Legolas had recently been beaten, one who did not know better would have thought that it happened weeks ago rather than days. “What is wrong?”

With a sheepish grin, Legolas murmured directly into the Adan’s ear so that he would not be announcing to the whole clearing of his need, “Nothing is wrong. Help me find a place to piss. My bladder will burst if I do not go soon.”

Aragorn laughed in relief, though seeing that this drew everyone’s attention to them, the Ranger tempered his humor. Reluctant to leave off holding the Prince, Estel grudgingly extricated himself from the blanket and the Silvan, and then stood. He then held his hand out to Legolas. The moment that the two had moved, everyone’s eyes were upon them, much to Aragorn’s chagrin. Carefully, he pulled the Wood-Elf into standing, slipped his arm through the laegel’s arm, and then began to lead him away.

Seeing that the two lovers were not just moving about but intended to leave the shelter, Elrond was quick to come to them before they made it out from under the tent. He offered, “Is there something that I can help you with? What is the matter, Greenleaf?”

“No, Minyatar. Nothing is wrong. Estel is merely keeping me company while I answer nature’s call,” the laegel admitted. The Wood-Elf’s head was lowered once more. As were most Elves, Legolas was entirely too casual about things that humans sometimes found distasteful to discuss or do in public – pissing being one of them. Aragorn knew that Legolas was not embarrassed of something so ordinary as having to urinate, and so wondered why the Prince looked so abashed. “I am still a bit unsteady on my feet,” he told Elrond in conciliation, “and could use Estel as a minder.”

The twins chuckled at the Silvan’s answer, though they, too, offered their help, with Elladan saying, “Can you walk, Greenleaf? We can find a chamber pot for you to piss in. I’m sure Ada brought at least three, as much as he’s got packed into that cart.”

“Or better still, we can bring you a tree to piss on,” Elrohir added, causing the two identical brothers to laugh at their own inanity, while everyone else shook their heads or smiled in mild amusement.

When Legolas flashed all of them a return smile and turned away to go out into the woods, still arm in arm with Estel, the Ranger saw as his father’s good cheer dropped from his face. To Estel and Estel alone, in that moment, the Peredhel showed his fear for Legolas. It was a brief slip of the hopeful, reassuring, and stoic mask that Elrond had been wearing to appease the others, and once he noticed that the Adan saw him, the mask returned.

 _Does Ada think that Legolas will still die?_ the Adan asked himself as he walked arm in arm with Legolas out beyond the small clearing and away from the path. _He is healed and we are with him. He desires me near. He is surrounded by his friends and family._ As they walked in a pace slow enough that the fatigued and underfed Prince had no trouble in remaining steady upon his feet, the human fretted, _If Greenleaf fades now, it will be because he chooses to do so, not because his grief overwhelms him._ It made Estel feel selfish to desire his lover to live when it might be better for the Elf to die, but of course, he could not feel otherwise.

To make certain that Legolas found his footing, he watched the Prince’s mud caked, bare feet as they walked. They ambled along in silence until beyond the sight of the tent and its occupants; once out of earshot of the others – though there were likely some of Glorfindel’s guards scattered through the woods surrounding them, even if they could not be seen – Legolas sighed and then told the Ranger, “I could not have waited another moment.”

Legolas did indeed have to piss. He waited only until the Wood-Elf had his borrowed trousers untied before he did the same and relieved himself, but was finished well before the Prince. While lacing up his trousers, he teased the Elf, “I think when you saved me from drowning you drank half the Bruinen, Greenleaf.”

Sniggering weakly, the Wood-Elf fumbled at the lacings to his breeches, which by the looks of them belonged to one of the twins, for they hung too loosely, too low, and too long on the slighter Silvan. The laegel’s broken fingers were now mended but still Legolas could not get his hands to cooperate, it seemed, and had trouble rethreading the lace from the eyeholes from where it had come loose. Thus, Aragorn dropped to his knees and by the Silvan’s hips turned the Elf towards him, and then took over the task. He made quick work of it and was careful not to let his hands by accident touch any of the Wood-Elf’s sensitive, private flesh; he did not want Legolas to feel as if Aragorn were being lecherous or trying to fondle him in any way.

It was now early evening. Peeping out from behind the swiftly moving rainclouds overhead, the sun’s warm refulgence was casting their surroundings in a glow of various shades of auburn – including Legolas’ yellow hair, which had the pleasant, multihued color of a ripening peach. With utter adoration, he gazed up at the Wood-Elf, his hands unknowingly lingering upon the Silvan’s hips, though not in lust but in his persistent need to touch the Elf. Legolas looked down at him with the same love and adulation, his bright, cobalt eyes glittering with moisture. Ever had he loved the Silvan Elf; never would he grow accustomed to seeing that love reflected back at him in Legolas’ beautiful face. Each time Legolas smiled at him, spoke to him words that a lover might be heard to say, or touched him intimately even if only innocently, it made Aragorn’s heart race with joy. His heart was racing even now, when all Legolas had done was gaze upon him and smile.

“Thank you,” the Wood-Elf whispered forlornly, belying the relaxed expression on his face. Legolas closed his eyes against the sight of the human before him and repeated, “Thank you, Estel.”

He knew the Prince alluded to more than just Estel tying his trousers’ lacings but could not fathom of what the Silvan spoke. As stupid as he knew it sounded, Aragorn asked from the ground, where he remained on his knees, his hands sliding from the Elf’s hips, down the outside of his thighs, and then resting at his muscled calves, “What is it? What is the matter?”

The Elf stumbled back a few steps out of Aragorn’s hold, leant back against an oak tree, and slid down it, rucking up his shirt and likely scratching the skin of his back upon the rough bark. Too surprised at this, the Adan was unable to rise fast enough to keep the laegel standing, and made it to his feet just as Legolas landed on his rear. When the Prince pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head upon them, Estel dropped again to his own knees before the Wood-Elf, his uneasiness now all out panic.

“What is it, Greenleaf?” he repeated in inquiry. With a hand upon either side of the Silvan’s jaw, Estel lifted Legolas’ head so that he could see for himself the Prince’s fair face. “Are you well?”

Legolas repeated simply, “Thank you.”

He pressed his forehead against the Prince’s now less bruised forehead. “For what? Why do you thank me?”

“For not hating me. For loving me still, even after what I have done and allowed to be done. I do not deserve it,” the Elf began. Estel wanted to interrupt, to forfend Legolas’ litany of self-recrimination, but the Ranger wanted for the laegel to open and air out the stale doubts he kept closeted up, which might give Aragorn the chance to replace them with fresh assurances of his love and devotion. Speaking quickly, the words tumbling forth as if unbidden, Legolas rambled desolately, “I am sorry, Estel. I did not mean to speak of this now. It is only that I am afraid. When Kalin removed the periapt my father placed upon me, I thought only of living to see Mithfindl dead. Now that he is dead and you are safe, I am afraid to live as much as I am afraid to die. I don’t think I can do this again. I can’t live with this shame. Thank you for what you have done for me, but do not think me ungrateful if in poor recompense I do not survive.”

The Ranger leant back but kept his hands upon the Prince’s jaws. Afraid himself, though of what the laegel might answer, he asked, “What are you telling me?”

Legolas had his eyes closed tightly; the Elf shook his head in negation of some internal thought and then tried to explain to the Ranger, “I cannot live as I did before, with everyone hounding my every step, asking me if I am well every moment of every day. Since what happened outside Lake-town, I have been a problem that needs fixing, not an Elf. I do not want to go back to the valley and endure the stares of the Imladrians, who will wonder about why I killed Mithfindl, who will gossip about me behind my back. I cannot face my own people in Mirkwood, knowing they think I am weak and mad. I do not want to bear my father’s censure. I do not even think I can endure Elladan and Elrohir’s cheerfulness or Elrond’s kindness. I cannot do it, Estel. I cannot live like this anymore.”

The Elf stopped for a moment. He tried to pull his face free of Aragorn’s hold but the Ranger would not relent. Legolas added in a final, damning conclusion, “No. It is not only that. I feel I cannot live like this, but more importantly, _I do not want to live like this_.”

He did not know where to start to try to argue against the Elf’s worries. So often before had the human argued against the scar’s opinions and so much did what Legolas said now sound like the mar, and hoping against all hope that the mar was the basis for Legolas’ words since the Adan had experience in deflecting the mar’s hold over the laegel, Estel asked first, “Is it the scar? Does it still hold its sway over you? Do not listen to it, Greenleaf.”

“No. The scar is no more. I cannot feel it as I did before.” With a vapid smile, the pale Elf reminded him and further explained what he had the day previous mentioned to the human, “In the pit, I told it that I would no longer listen to it any more. Whatever revulsion and sorrow that it held… that I kept separate from myself to survive what happened to me… is now entirely mine again. There is no scar, Estel, not on my body or my soul.” Giving a short, self-deprecating laugh, Legolas leant his head to one side, nuzzling his cheek against one of the human’s hands. “There is no scar, just an open wound.”

This, at least, was wonderful news. Before the night in the storage room under the stairs, the Wood-Elf had not heard the mar’s castigation for months, but even then, Estel had feared its return. And each day during the scar’s silence, the Ranger had doubted whether his lover was honest in saying that the disembodiment of his faer’s grief was truly hushed. For some reason, however, he did not doubt Legolas now. Of course, the Elf said that the disembodied voice was gone because it was now his own voice – the scar’s absence didn’t solve anything except perhaps in that it might allow Legolas’ tormented mind some peace from feeling as if he were going mad.

“Never mind,” the Prince abruptly told him, shaking his head again, though this time he looked as if he were trying to clear it. Still, Estel did not let go but kept his calloused hands lightly cupping the Wood-Elf’s jaw. “I am sorry, Estel. We can return now. I just needed a moment. I could not sit there any longer with all of you staring at me, waiting for me to die.”

In true umbrage, Aragorn contended, “Greenleaf! We do not wait for you to die; we fear it. If we stare at you, it is because we want to be ready to do whatever we might to ensure that it does not happen.”

“There is no difference,” the Silvan claimed; “All of you stare at me with pity and sadness. I cannot bear it.” He was finally able to wrest his jaw out of Aragorn’s hands. The Prince pulled his knees even tighter to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Yet again, the Prince apologized, “I am sorry, Estel. I did not mean to worry you. I just needed to be alone for a few moments more. I am fine now.”

Clearly, though the Wood-Elf said he wanted to be alone, what he wanted was to be alone with Aragorn. Realizing this, the Ranger was encouraged, at least, that even if his lover included him in the unwanted audience that he considered the others to be, he did not wish to be rid of him as he did the others. Tempted though he was to reach out and pull Legolas into his embrace, the human refrained for now. He longed to comfort the Prince but he needed him to listen to what he would say. Legolas was speaking in circles. He was not coming right out and telling Estel what was wrong because the Wood-Elf was unsure of it. Estel knew what the problem was, though – the same Prince who would brave a horde of Goblins to protect his people, who stood up to his father even knowing that it would end in blood and bruises, and who had chosen a male human as his lover despite that it made him a pariah to his own kind and a degenerate traitor to his King – would rather die than face the difficulties of convalescing his wounded faer. Legolas was courageous to the point of being foolhardy at times, he was steadfast when others would quaver, and the Elf was indomitable in the face of evil, but right now, the Prince was shamed because he felt cowardly, because he would rather die than live a life that promised him only scrutiny, pity, and suspicion.

The human could not understand – or perhaps he did not want to understand. He had never endured what Legolas had endured, did not feel grief as keenly as did an Elf, nor did he have a tyrant father. But to hear the Prince say that he did not want to live – well, this Aragorn understood least of all. If in Legolas’ place, Estel believed that the mere promise of a new day, the chance to wake up next to Legolas, or the simple pleasures of eating, hunting, sleeping, or any of a multitude of activities would be enough to make him want to endure for just a while longer. Indeed, Aragorn had to rein in his immediate ire for Legolas. He did not understand why his lover felt so hopeless, not when the two of them finally had the chance to be with the other, without the scar, without Mithfindl, and with Thranduil’s blessing. He could not show Legolas this anger, however, lest in the Silvan’s mind Estel were to become part of the problem.

“Greenleaf, if you wish it, I will go fetch Elladan’s horse and we will ride off into the woods right now. We can leave them all behind. None of them will be very happy for it, but if that is what you need or desire, then let us go.” The human threaded his fingers through the hair atop the Silvan’s head, feeling upon his fingertips the grit that still coated his lover’s tresses. He had promised himself that he would not beg Legolas to live, since it might cause the Elf to live for the Ranger, but found himself saying regardless, “You know that I will do whatever it takes to make you want to live, Greenleaf. I will do whatever you ask of me. I am selfish, I know, but I want you with me until the end of my time. Say it, Greenleaf. Say whatever I can do to make you happy, to make you want to live. I would give you anything… you know this.”

Cold and damp, the mud from the forest floor was seeping into the knees of his trousers. In this part of the heavily boughed woods, the cloud-hidden sun did not quite warm the air properly. Nonetheless, it was the thought of living without Legolas that made a chill run down Aragorn’s back. When Legolas did not respond, the Ranger felt compelled to clarify, “Have you changed your mind, then, Greenleaf? You told me – before you lost consciousness, after you killed Mithfindl – that you still wanted to go out into the wilds with me, that you wanted to live. You said you wanted to keep your promise to me, if Ilúvatar wills it. Do you now wish to die?”

“No,” the Wood-Elf whispered but could not look at Estel while he assured the human, “I do not wish to die. But nor do I wish to live in humiliation while surrounded by those who care for me but pity me; I do not want to go to the valley to face the Imladrians after killing one of their own; and I do not want to go back to the Greenwood where my father will resume his anger and blame. I am so very tired. I can ask nothing more of you, Estel. You have forgiven me, you have not forsaken me, and you love me, fool that you are,” the Silvan said with another gentle, miserable smile. “It is not your fault,” the Wood-Elf was eager to assure the human. “I am pathetic, and I am tired.”

Legolas was no weakling. In fact, after living through all that he had, the Wood-Elf was one of the most resilient and bravest people Estel had ever known. He might have been a bit biased in that judgment, he knew. And yet, the Elf told him he wished to hide or to die. The Ranger knew suddenly that this was a moment of weakness Legolas would overcome, and so set about showing the Silvan this lest this moment become the defining point of the Wood-Elf’s decision on whether to fade or persist.

“No one in Imladris will blame you for killing Mithfindl. They will all know you rightfully hunted him down for poisoning your King and attacking you, but they will never know all that happened unless you wish it. No one pities you, Greenleaf. They love you. They worry for you,” he tried to argue against his lover’s disquiet. “And your father – well, you know him better than I, but I think you will find that he will never be the same tyrant to whom you are accustomed. Will he lose his temper? Yes – but he loves you. Do not doubt it. Give him time to change. Give everyone time to learn why you have done what you have done, and none of them will think you mad or a murderer. And give me time, Greenleaf. Give me time with you. Please, make no decision now, when you are at your lowest. Give me a chance to make you happy. Give us all a chance to do what we can. Give me time.”

Legolas had let loose of his legs and now held one hand upon his chest, rubbing at its center as he had done so many times recently when his faer’s ache caused him actual physical pain. The Ranger was being unfair. Ilúvatar help him, Estel knew that he was being unfair and yet could not stop himself. Again, the human reached out to hold the Prince’s face, his rough hands tender in their touch as he began stroking the Silvan’s cheeks. “I have only just found you,” the human pled shamelessly, fervently forgoing his promise not to ask the Elf to live for him when he begged, “do not leave me now.”

Unable to look upon the human’s face, Legolas closed his eyes once more and did not answer the Ranger’s frantic entreaties. “I would that I never had to face any of it.” Sounding like a bereft and lost soul, Legolas longingly told the Ranger, “I wish I could run away and pretend like none of this happened. Perhaps then, I would not wish to die just to be relieved of it. But it will follow me around forever as long as I live or as long as I stay.”

Unthinkingly, Aragorn offered, for he had not lied in saying he would do whatever Legolas wished if it kept the Elf alive, “Then we will leave, just you and I. Right now, if you desire.”

Legolas’ eyes flew open and for the first time in a week or more, he looked upon Estel with true and unhampered hope. “Truly? You would leave everyone behind and go into the woods with me? Just the two of us?”

“And why wouldn’t I, Greenleaf?” Unable to stop himself, the Ranger leant forward and laid what he intended to be a chaste kiss upon the Elf’s forehead, but once his lips were pressed to the Prince’s skin, they lingered there until Estel had to force himself to pull away. He felt cruel to have made this offer when it was not what he wanted Legolas to choose. “We can send the twins to the House to collect our horses and what we might need. Or, we can leave right now, with you shoeless and both of us nearly weaponless, but that might be unwise. Either way, our fathers would not like it,” he warned the Silvan, making sure that Legolas understood, “and the Imladrians will still be here upon our return. Your family and friends will only worry for you more. If you think that your kith believe you mad now, they would truly think you a lunatic if you ran off into the wilds with me with only your long knife. Kalin would hunt us down, I am certain of it. And the twins. And everything you wish to avoid would still be here upon our return, Greenleaf. Unless you intend never to return?”

Just as suddenly, the Prince’s face became utterly crestfallen; Legolas shook his head. “No, I cannot take off without seeing that Kalin is well. I cannot leave my father so soon. Nor would I want us both in the wilds without weapons or supplies. I would be just as happy to die fighting some wild animal with my hands than to die in a bed in the valley from grief, but I would not risk your life for such a selfish endeavor.” Again, the Wood-Elf shook his head. “No, there is no running away, is there?”

He understood. As much as it pained the Ranger to see the hope absent from the Elf, he was glad Legolas did not want to turn away from the problems he faced – doing so was how he had gained the hateful voice of the scar, when the Elf had tried to ignore his grief rather than face it. He agreed, “No, there is no running away. But afterwards,” the Adan suggested quietly, planting another mild buss upon the Silvan’s forehead, “afterwards, we can go into the wilds, just the two of us. Once we have given it enough time. And that is all I ask for. Time. Please, Greenleaf, give me time to make this right again.”

Legolas smiled, some optimism returning to the Elf at the man’s words. All tension, worry, and fear left the human when the Silvan promised, “Time, then. I can promise you that, after all that you have done for me, Estel. But I promise you nothing more,” the laegel cautioned, for he was not going to lie to the human by promising to live.

And with that, the Adan was unable to stop himself from heaving the Wood-Elf into his arms. _Time is all I need. I will show you the joy of living again, I promise you,_ he made an oath to the Elf. Legolas allowed this eagerly enough for a few moments, but soon, he shifted away and began to rise. Deftly, the human rose and helped the Prince into standing.

“We should go back, before we worry everyone,” the Prince suggested unhappily, for it was clear he would rather not return to the clearing, where all would stare at him, pity him, and pester him.

Aragorn nodded but Legolas was already walking away. He caught up to the Elf and looped his arm through the Silvan’s once again, and together they walked arm in arm back to the tent, where unsurprisingly, all were waiting impatiently for their return. For the first time, Estel took true notice of how everyone scrutinized the laegel. He had not noticed it before but indeed, just as Legolas had complained, they all observed the Wood-Elf Prince as if he might perish in front of them at any second. _Greenleaf is right of that. Once we are back at the house he can retire to his rooms and not have everyone hound his every movement, at least. I will see to it that he is not the center of their unwanted attentions then._

“We were thinking of sending a search party out for the two of you,” Elrohir teased the moment that the Prince and Ranger stepped back under the oilcloth tent’s shelter.

“Legolas hunted Mithfindl, Estel searched for Legolas, we sought Estel, and then Ada found us all,” the elder twin mused, telling them, “It would have been a sad state of affairs had we needed to start all over again because you two got lost in the woods trying to piss.”

So close to the truth had Elladan’s statement hit – that is, that the Silvan and Ranger had spoken of leaving their friends and family behind and going off just the two of them – that it startled the human, but Legolas laughed heartily at his identical friends, his burdened mind greatly lightened after his talk with Estel. The two had arrived back just in time. The thunder from earlier that had clapped intermittently from afar was now much closer and the first drops of rain began to hit the top of the tent.

“Are you suggesting that either Estel or myself is fool enough to get lost in the woods around Imladris?” he asked in false irascibility, giving the twins a scowl that so reminded the Ranger of Thranduil that the human looked to the Elvenking to see if he was aware that his son was poking fun of him with this imitation – even if only mildly so. But though he had noticed the Prince’s return right along with Erestor and Glorfindel, and all three often looked to where Estel and Legolas were settling back upon the cushions, they were speaking amongst themselves and did not pay much mind to of what the twins and Prince spoke.

Elladan and Elrohir laughed at their Silvan friend and then returned to their own conversation, which from the bits that Estel could overhear was an argument about the precise violaceous shade that fiery Anor was tinting the storm clouds. As the Elf and Ranger sat, Legolas tried to put a space between them, which confused the human, and when Aragorn tried to move closer, the Wood-Elf nearly moved away. He took hold of the Prince’s hand to stop him, which caused Legolas to look at the Ranger in question.

The human let go of his lover’s limb. Something obdurate lay behind Legolas’ eyes. At once, Estel knew what it was, for he had seen this look before. Legolas was avoiding the human’s touch, his proffered comfort. The Wood-Elf had done this often when listening to the scar, but since according to the Prince the scar was no more, Aragorn could only surmise, _Either Greenleaf thinks that he does not deserve comfort, or he thinks that he ought to be strong enough to cope with his grief alone._

Upon thinking it, the Ranger knew immediately that while Legolas likely did believe the former in some small part, it was the latter that had caused the Elf to try to evade him.When the laegel had first returned to Imladris after fleeing his father’s violence, Legolas had repeatedly eschewed the man’s touch because he had thought using Aragorn to quiet the scar’s castigation was akin to rending the scar to quiet it – with both on par as hindering the Silvan’s healing, in Legolas’ reasoning. Even before that, the doubts the fell voice had instilled in the Elf had caused him to do the same; he had looked at Estel much the same as he did now.

_He thinks to suffer by himself to indurate his faer rather than allow me to ameliorate his sorrowed soul._

Bringing with him a huge, down stuffed pillow, Elrond laid it nearby and crouched by the human and Silvan, telling them, “You two need to rest. We will leave for the House once you have both slept for a few hours.”

Elrond set about rearranging the thin, flat cushions so that they could recline. If Aragorn reached out, he could again clear the space between the Elf and him with his arm, but that would not be enough. He wanted Legolas in his arms, sharing his warmth, feeling the slight movement of the Elf’s chest as his heart beat, and hearing the soft sounds of Legolas’ breathing. His father was close enough to listen easily to whatever he said and Aragorn had been promised time, not cooperation, so the Ranger requested as if he were the one in need of comfort rather than Legolas, “Greenleaf. I cannot sleep without you beside me. Will you lie down with me, please?” he asked.

Legolas looked at him doubtfully but gave the human an indulgent grin, then scooted to the human at once. Wrapping his arms around the Elf, he pulled the Prince to him so that Legolas was seated before him as they had been before going off into the woods a short while ago. If Legolas intended to avoid Aragorn’s affection, he would not do so anytime soon – not if Aragorn could help it.

“Lie back, the both of you,” the master healer told the Silvan and Adan as he held the blanket aloft, at ready to spread over the Wood-Elf, who could not seem to sleep without one.

With his ever present, compassionate smile, Elrond pushed at Estel’s shoulder gently, inciting him into doing as asked. The Adan did not loosen his hold of Legolas in the least, but dragged the Wood-Elf down right along with him, aiming their heads towards the pillow that Elrond had placed. The Elf was not at all dissatisfied by this; Legolas merely shifted a bit so that he could lie in front of the Ranger, Estel’s front to his back, and Aragorn’s whiskered face pressed into the nape of his neck – this was just how they usually slept in the bed. Overhead, heavy drops of rain began pelting the oilcloth tent and the leafed trees that sheltered the Elf and Ranger from the oncoming storm. With their friends and family around them, keeping watch over the two lovers, Estel and Legolas curled together in ease.

 _Greenleaf’s rhaw is mended,_ he reminded himself. _Ada has seen to that._ The human pressed his nose into the hair at the base of the Elf’s neck, unwittingly just where the periapt had once been located, though it was long since removed and the open sore there healed by vilya. _Now, I must work to mend his faer._

Yes, the Wood-Elf had told the Ranger that he wished to live, that he wanted to go into the wilds with him, to stay with him. Whether he was capable of it remained to be seen because the Silvan had also admitted that he would rather die than live as an oddity – as he had been the past few months and would be evermore so after recent events. But for now, Estel let himself relax. Legolas was safe, Mithfindl was dead, and they were soon to be in the vale. He had pulled the Elf from the brink of a grieving death before and he was certain that he could do it again – especially now that Legolas had promised him the time he needed to see it done.


	26. Chapter 26

They left the servants to clear up the tent and pack the cart, and then also left them behind to follow at what would be a much slower pace. Elrond was eager to have his human and Silvan foster sons back at home, it seemed, and though Legolas did not know it, the Peredhel was aware of how Legolas was growing more withdrawn because of everyone’s constant scrutiny. At the Last Homely House, the Wood-Elf Prince would be able to relax – or so Elrond hoped.

Much to Estel’s frustration, the Prince chose to ride with his father on their way back to the valley. As they made their way along the narrow path towards Rivendell, their procession was lively, with the twins still bickering good-naturedly, Erestor and Glorfindel speaking with Elrond at the front of the line about how to destroy the periapts, and the Ranger riding alone on Arato, who the King had insisted be brought for his son to ride once found. Thranduil had not entertained the possibility that his son would not be found or would not be found alive.

The twins had hours ago said that they would arrive home before the dinner bells rang, but since they had stopped to allow Legolas and Estel to sleep, they would now arrive after dark. They’d been given about an hour of sleep, which had revived both Elf and Ranger. When Legolas had awoken within his lover’s embrace, he had chastised himself for being so weak in finding comfort from the man when he had only just promised himself to try to place a distance between them. Aragorn had asked for time, which Legolas had oathed to give to the Adan, but he was unsure whether to proceed with his intention of trying to face his grief alone. And so, unsure if he could ride on his own without toppling off due to his fatigue, Legolas had asked his father if he could ride with him, who had been agreeably surprised to be asked. Therefore, the Prince rode behind his King, his arms wrapped around his Ada’s waist and his tired head resting upon the older Elf’s back. Although the Adan was not pleased with this arrangement, the Elvenking was more than pleased. As they trotted along, Thranduil had one hand on the reins and the other entwined with one of Thranduilion’s hands.

His father was usually not one for shows of affection – not in public but not even in private. When younger, the Elf-King had never hesitated to pick up his son and swing him around to make the Elfling Prince laugh. He had often taken his young son in his lap to let Legolas tie knots in his Ada’s hair while Thranduil listened to his advisors or petitions from his people. He had read to Legolas, chased him in the gardens and through the halls of his private quarters in the mountain halls, and though Thranduil had little to do with Legolas’ education in scholastic or military matters, the King had been the one to teach the Prince to swim in the Forest River, back when the King and Queen would enjoy outings with their young Elfling, many of which eventuated in the royal couple in the Forest River with Legolas, who even then had loved the clean feeling of being immersed in the river water. All of that changed when Mirkwood’s Queen died. Over their many years, Legolas often forgave his father for his trespasses, for his long periods of neglect and intermittent abuse, and for the hurtful words that the King spouted on a nearly daily basis. The Prince found it hard to hold grudges, anyway, and his Ada was among a few whom Legolas loved unconditionally. Even now, the laegel did not think nor care about how much his father had hurt him in the past or ponder about how his King would eventually hurt him in the future. For now, just having his father near was enough.

And yet, he told himself, _I cannot simply replace Estel with my father. I must face this alone; else, I will never heal._

He inhaled deeply, keeping his father’s distinct scent inside his lungs. His father wasn’t actually as vain as he oftentimes looked and was not afraid to get dirty when the need for it arose, but he was always careful to give the appearance of his royalty and wanted Legolas to do the same. In the Greenwood, the King wore crowns made from the bounty of the woods, with ivy and flowers and leaves that made Thranduil smell of the forest. He was always dressed in fine fabrics that were immaculately washed with scented soaps, he always held the aroma of pine soap and leather, and usually, the King would smell of the spiced wine that he loved so. Compared to Legolas, who knew that he currently smelled of Troll shit, decaying corpses, blood, and death, he contemplated that his father was like a fragrant flower.

The Wood-Elf grinned into his father’s back at the thought of his father as a summer blossom. In other times, if Legolas had needed to share a horse with his father while the Prince reeked and was covered in filth, Thranduil might have scowled at him and told him to walk. But not today. Indeed, today, Legolas could not pick out the scent of wine upon his Ada, spiced or otherwise.

_He turned down wine earlier. Mayhap he will try to drink less. Mayhap he will truly be a better father, just as Estel said._

Much laid between father and son. Over the last few days, Legolas had thought that he needed an apology from his father before he undertook forgiving him, but now, Legolas was only pleased to be beside his Ada, since he had been certain that he would die in the pit or in the forest ere he ever saw his King again. In addition to noting that his father refused wine earlier, he had also noted the irritation that his King had shown while listening to Legolas’ story. He wasn’t sure what he had said to cause his father’s irritation, but he needed his father’s forgiveness and love, else there was no hope of Legolas keeping his promise to Aragorn to give him time, because the young Silvan’s sorrow would be insurmountable without his father’s absolution. Even if it took a beating or cruel words, he needed his father’s clemency.

“I love you, Ada. Thank you for coming for me,” he whispered, hoping that Estel could not overhear. The others were too engaged in speaking to listen in, but Aragorn was close enough that he might not only hear but also interrupt what Legolas wanted to say to his father. Before him, the King stiffened and his head turned slightly to the side to listen to the Prince seated behind him. “I am sorry if I worried you, if I have shamed you. Forgive me.”

He felt but did not hear as his father sighed. The grip upon his hand tightened almost painfully. Speaking in the same low tone, the Elvenking responded with an ease that was unnatural considering that Thranduil admitted, “I love you, as well, Legolas. And you have not shamed me, my son. Do not say that. You have done as you promised, as I knew you would. You have slain Mithfindl. You have done all you could this past week to keep me and our people safe, as any good Prince should do. Few would have gone to the lengths that you have gone to.”

“But I was wrong. I did it all thinking that Estel was the culprit. Had I not been so easily deceived, had I been more prudent in allowing Mithfindl inside your rooms, then none of this would have happened.” He felt his father sigh again but continued in saying, “I have been too trusting. When all find out what I have done, what I have allowed to be done, to both you and myself, then they will know how weak of mind and will I am, and you will be shamed for it.”

“But Legolas,” his father argued patronizingly, as if his son were dimwitted, and repeated what the King had already told Legolas days ago when first Mithfindl’s periapt was removed from the Prince, “you could think nothing less than what Mithfindl had you think. And truth be told, I was the one who was too trusting. I allowed Mithfindl close before ever I reached the valley. Had he not the chance that night, then another time he might have used the periapt upon me. And besides, my son, no one will hear of any more of this than how you killed Mithfindl for trying to assassinate me. I will not have all of Imladris or all of the Greenwood blathering about what has been done to you. Elrond and his family will not spread such gossip; I have had Elrond’s word. And neither of us will tell them, and our sentries would not dare to go against my command to hold their tongues. And Faelthîr – well, if Elrond lets her live, her life is dependent upon her silence, I will see to it.”

Legolas no more wanted everyone to know about his being defiled, beaten, and used than did his father, of course, although perhaps for different reasons. He said as much, “I wish that no one knew. If I could have kept anyone from knowing, I would have. Not you, not Elrond, not Estel. No one.”

Irritation creeping into the King’s voice, he told Legolas, “And yet, you spoke freely in front of the others earlier. You did not hesitate to continue to bare your grief and suffering to them, while saying now that you hope no one will discover the truth of what has happened. You cannot keep secrets if you share them so willingly.”

Legolas understood suddenly why his King had been so exasperated while listening to the Prince’s tale. For Thranduil, being strong meant never showing otherwise, not even to one’s friends and family. In telling everyone of what he had endured, Legolas had evinced to them his weakness. Moreover and perhaps more importantly to Thranduil, the King felt that his Prince reflected upon him. If Legolas appeared frail, then by association, by the King’s thinking, so too did Thranduil appear frail. But the laegel had not thought twice about this during their interrogation of him and Estel earlier.

He told his father, “They are like family to me, Ada. Elladan and Elrohir are like brothers, as Estel once was although of course he is more than that now. And Elrond is like another father to me. As for Lords Erestor and Glorfindel, I am not as close to them as I am to Elrond, but they care for me, all the same.”

“For years beyond count, I have tried to instill in you what my father instilled in me – you must be strong always, even if you feel otherwise. If you are injured or grieving, then you must pretend to be otherwise, letting none know of the truth lest it be used against you.” The Elvenking offered this advice, his voice even quieter than before, “Being a King means being alone. It is the same for being a Prince, ion nin. Elrond and his sons can be your friends and second family in times of joy, but in times of distress, there is only one person to whom you ought to turn, my son – to your King, your father. _I am your family,_ not Elrond, not his sons, and definitely not his servants. I am your strength when you are weak.”

Legolas burrowed his forehead against his Ada’s spine, his mind reeling to hear this. Never had he thought to hear his father say such a thing, to offer his support, even if he tried to turn the Prince away from the others in doing so. His father was strong, yes. Thranduil’s life had not been easy. He had been thrust into being a King upon the death of his father, Oropher. He had lost his Queen from rapacious violence and been left to raise their youngling without her. For years, the Darkness in the forest waned and grew, abated and then renewed, all at the cost of Silvan lives, where each death was felt by the King to be a defeat even if the battle was won. Legolas knew that his father had endured all these trials, but other than in regards to the Queen’s death, he had never thought his King agonized over them. To hear his father had endured alone his misgivings, uncertainties, and regret made the Prince’s heart heavy with remorse that he had not been more attentive or helpful to his King.

_I always thought he was beyond reproach, that he was capable of taking care of all of the forest and our people without much assistance, but he was only hiding his vulnerabilities so no one would doubt him. And it has worked. Even I, his own son and the one who should have been at his side, have taken him for granted._

The King said he was the only one to whom Legolas ought to turn for strength, but then, each time the Prince showed frailty of any sort in front of his father, Thranduil used that weakness against him – or so the laegel had always assumed. From what his father said now, Legolas realized that in his own flawed way, Thranduil had been trying to strengthen his son with his oftentimes cold and abrupt attitude, with his occasional violence, just as Oropher had done for Thranduil.

The King continued, interrupting the Prince’s thoughts, “Just as you cannot expose the flaws of your army to the enemy or show your fear in battle, you cannot let others know of your weaknesses. You must deny their existence, even to yourself. Ever have you turned away from me and to them in times of need, Legolas,” Thranduil inveighed, speaking of Elrond and his family. “They have only taught you to wallow in your pity and doubts. They have turned you into a quivering, sniveling weakling. But this is not your fault, either. I am your father. I should have put an end to it rather than turning a blind eye. It was your mother’s duty to make you a gentle, good Elf; it was mine to make you a capable Prince. After her death, I should have taken on the responsibility of both tasks, but it seems that I accomplished neither.”

The rain pattered down around them. The storm from earlier had moved on to leave only the remnants of the trailing rainclouds, which bore a steady, cold drizzle. Legolas closed his eyes and pressed his face against his father’s back, determined not to begin weeping. He wasn’t sure if his father was telling him he ought to have been stricter and kept Legolas away from Elrond and his sons, or if he was telling him he ought to have been more like Elrond and paid more care to the upbringing of his son’s character.

Either way, Legolas could see the wisdom in his father’s words. Usually, the Prince agreed with his King to appease him, to stem his anger and violence, but right now, he agreed wholeheartedly, telling Thranduil, “You are right, Ada. Too many times, I have ignored your wisdom out of spite for you, because of our differences. I have been foolish. Had I listened to you and kept sentries beside me at all times as you have always told me to do, as it befits my station, then what happened in Lake-town and after would never have occurred. Had I not shown to Mithfindl that I was feeble of will and had an unsound mind, he would not have thought he could have me in the forest months ago. If I had not been weak, I would have not let Estel fight my battles for me. And even if Sven and Cort had still attacked me in the woods, I should have been the one to slay them. I should have challenged Mithfindl. And then, Mithfindl would not have had the desire for Estel’s destruction. He would not have had need to try to leave the valley to obtain better position,” the Prince rambled, his father’s words ringing so true to him that the Wood-Elf could not stop. He also forgot to whisper as they had been, and his voice carried to the human riding nearby to father and son. “If I had been strong, if I had been more like you, I would have turned Mithfindl away that night he came to your rooms. I am sorry, Ada.”

“Legolas,” the King began in exasperation, for the Prince had misconstrued what Thranduil said, but Thranduil was interrupted by a very irate Estel.

“Enough!” came the Adan’s voice from in front of them. The Ranger pulled hard on Arato’s reins to turn him around, earning himself a nicker of anger from the stallion. Having only heard what Legolas told his father, the human assumed he had caught the end of a conversation in which the King was impugning the Prince for all that had happened, and thus lost his temper and railed in a shout, “You will not lay blame for all of this upon Greenleaf!”

Not too far ahead of them, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor were turning their own mounts around at the sound of Aragorn’s shouting, while the twins were trotting the short distance back so they could forfend whatever argument was about to occur.

“I do not – ” the King began again, only to be interrupted once more.

“Greenleaf is strong. Do not call him weak for loving his friends and family, for wanting comfort in his time of need.” Aragorn’s anger and tight hold of Arato’s reins was causing the stallion to skitter, while his ears were back and his teeth were clacking nervously. “None of this is his fault. If you wish to blame someone, blame me! I am the one who incited Mithfindl’s need for revenge. I am the one who convinced Legolas to come out into the woods when Cort and Sven happened upon us. I am the reason Legolas was in Lake-town to buy pipe-weed. I will not listen to you belittle and degrade him any further!”

 _Arato will begin bucking and throw Estel to the ground if he isn’t careful,_ the Prince worried, his fear for the Ranger’s safety overriding his desire to end the quarrel.

Legolas slid his arms out from around his Ada and then slithered down from off his father’s horse. His body exhausted and his mind weary, the Silvan staggered the few short steps to Arato and took hold of the reins, pulling them out of Aragorn’s hands – who did not even seem to notice, so intent was Estel on glaring at the Elvenking at whom he ranted. At once, with his beloved master nearby, Arato stilled. Legolas was soon surrounded on either side by the twins, who had hopped off their own mounts to get to the shambling Prince. Elladan and Elrohir were afraid Legolas might fall or be trampled under the horse, although Arato was now snorting into Legolas’ hair in contentment to have his master show him attention – regardless of the aggravating human who rode him.

“I do not ask for your opinion,” the King was telling Aragorn as he leapt from his mount. In response, the Ranger did the same, and the laegel suddenly dreaded that his lover and his King would have a brawl right here on the path to Imladris. If it came to blows, Legolas would not let his father strike Estel, but he would stand up for his King otherwise. Thranduil was trying to be patient, which in the Elvenking’s case was demonstrated only in that he was not yet yelling. “I was having a conversation with my son, not with you. Do not eavesdrop. You do not know of what we were speaking.”

Legolas laid his cheek alongside Arato’s neck. He felt like an Elfling who thought she might hide from a scolding. His faer could not withstand interfering with his lover and his father’s argument. _Please,_ he asked of his Minyatar, _please, hurry and end this._ He knew that if he so much as opened his mouth, then either or both Estel and his King would think Legolas was siding with the other. The Silvan pressed a hand to his chest, where a familiar pang of sorrow was erupting.

“Greenleaf?” one of the twins said as they crowded closer to him. They could feel as the Wood-Elf’s already despairing faer grew evermore so, as could all the Elves to some degree. Thranduil and Estel were too caught up in their anger at the other to take notice of the Prince’s distress.

“I am fine,” he told them, growling in irritation at their mothering. His King’s advice still resounding in his mind, the laegel was determined not to let his friends treat him as if he were a frightened child, even if that’s how he was likely acting. And so, when Elladan took hold of the Prince’s arm as if to pull him away from Arato, to comfort or speak to him, the Wood-Elf yanked his arm free, turned to them, and shouted, “I am fine! Leave me be!”

He saw the shrewd but hurt look the twins shared between them and he was immediately contrite at his eruption, but before he could apologize, he saw that the Ranger was walking to Thranduil, shouting menacingly, “I will not let you shame him just to appease your own perceived dishonor. Does he not have enough burdens without having to abide your wrath and criticism? Without having to – ”

Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor were finally to them, with the commander now off his horse and coming between the Ranger and Elvenking. Glorfindel stood facing the Adan, held his hand out to stave off the Ranger should he try to bound forward, and warned simply, “Estel. Behave yourself.”

“No,” the human now argued with Glorfindel, his anger unmitigated. “I will not allow him to rebuke Legolas. He is not a whipping boy to be flogged every time Thranduil’s pride is wounded.”

Everyone was moving and now talking all at once, and the laegel could not keep up with what was being said. The twins decided they did not care if Legolas did not desire their attention; they shifted to stand beside him once again when the miserable Silvan faltered on his feet. Erestor and Ninan were now at Thranduil’s side, with the advisor congenially trying to calm the Elvenking with whispered, nearly nonsensical sounds, and Ninan moving in front of his King as if in protection, though Glorfindel still blocked the grousing Ranger’s path.

Elrond, however, was by his horse, watching all of this in uncharacteristic confusion. No one had heard what caused Estel’s outburst. Knowing that his fostered human son was not one quick to anger but also knowing that he was quick to defend the Wood-Elf Prince, Elrond could not seem to decide whom he should be chiding for starting this. One thing over which Elrond held no confusion, though, was that the Prince’s distress was mounting quickly, for he could feel it more keenly than could anyone else. Elrond spoke softly, which despite barely being audible over the din, ended the others’ bickering at once, as he requested gently, “Greenleaf, naer ion nin. Come to me, please.”

The Wood-Elf let go of Arato’s reins to do as he had been bid by his Minyatar. He was stopped when his father pushed past Ninan and Erestor, and then grabbed the laegel’s arm. “Legolas,” his father said, his hold tight upon the young Silvan, “let us ride again. I want to reach the valley as soon as possible. Ninan,” he called out, though the protective sentry had followed his liege and thus was right behind him. Thranduil turned to his head sentry, telling him, “Ride ahead, as quickly as you can. Tell our people to prepare for departure. We are going home at dawn tomorrow. I will not stay here any longer.”

 _We cannot leave,_ he wanted to argue to his father, knowing that without Aragorn and the others, he would surely die. _I cannot leave Estel now._

It wasn’t just in anger at the Ranger having the gall to confront him that had the King riled, it was in part because of the very conversation that had caused Aragorn to confront Thranduil. Aragorn was standing up to Thranduil, having misunderstood the King and Prince’s conversation, but in doing so, was proving to the Elvenking that he was exactly right – Legolas was being treated like a child by Elrond and Elrond’s family, which is why Estel thought it his place to come between father and son rather than let Legolas stand up for himself.

One look at his King told him that it would be useless to try to convince his father, however, and so he said nothing. His reluctance to comply must have been blatant upon his now only faintly bruised face. Thranduil pushed at his sopping wet hair, gave his son a conciliatory smile, and then to Legolas explained while tugging the Prince back to his horse, “I am taking you home. You have been coddled enough here in the valley.”

Aghast at the King’s words, the Ranger stood openmouthed in incredulity. Disbelieving his father’s sudden decision, as well, Legolas looked around him, seeking help to change his King’s mind. The twins were standing close to each other, but they both looked to their father. In fact, Erestor and Glorfindel were also looking to Elrond to mollify the situation. The Peredhel did not disappoint them. “Thranduil, let us speak for a moment,” Elrond implored of the Elf-King. “Call Ninan back. If after we have spoken you still wish to leave, I will say nothing further to try to stop you.”

“Wait,” the King grudgingly called out to Ninan, who had only just leapt back upon his horse to do as he had been bid.

Elrond took hold of the King’s arm in friendly familiarity and guided him away from the others to speak alone. They walked out of sight, much to Ninan’s annoyance, for the sentry appeared on the verge of following his King, despite that the sentry must have known that Elrond would be of no threat to Thranduil. And now, the outburst over and the woods silent, they all stared at the Prince. Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir – they all stared at Legolas, as if in wait for him to do or say something that would precede his fading. Even Ninan watched his Prince, although from his harried look, the sentry must have worried that whatever had caused the row between his King and the Imladrians might eventuate in the sentry needing to be of aid to Legolas against the others. The Wood-Elf turned his back to them all and petted Arato’s nose, who stamped his feet and tossed his head at the welcomed attention.

“Greenleaf,” the Adan entreated as he came to Legolas. The Ranger reached out to pet Arato’s neck, but his eyes were upon the Prince, Legolas knew, for he could feel their loving judgment. “I should not have shouted at your father. I am sorry. But you know that none of this was your fault. I could not listen to you tell him that it was.”

To halt whatever the Ranger might say, the Prince told the human, “No, Estel. My father is right. I will not argue with you over it. He is right.”

Having not heard what the King had told the Prince, the others had no comment to this, but Estel was not willing to let it go. He pried one of the laegel’s hands away from Arato’s mane, where the Elf had twisted it around his fingers, and brought it to his chest. “I know what you are thinking. I know what you intend,” the human softly admonished the Wood-Elf. He came to stand so near to Legolas that Aragorn’s front was pressed against the laegel’s side. “I do not care what your father says. It is not weakness to want your friends and family whilst you suffer. I know you think that you must face this alone.”

Just having the Ranger near was enough to drive away his doubts. It was troubling. Acutely aware that they had an audience, Legolas leant forward only enough to rest his aching head upon Estel’s chest for a brief moment, ere he pulled his hand and head away, telling the Adan again, “My father is right. I should have persevered on my own or I should have died.”

“You do not truly believe that,” Aragorn contested. The crestfallen, bewildered look upon the Ranger’s features was heart wrenching to the Prince.

In the dim light of the night, raindrops were playing lambently upon the man’s beard. Unable to resist, Legolas spread both hands over the human’s cheeks and swept the water away, giving his lover a smile as he did so. “Instead, I have survived, but only to become a burden to you all.”

“Greenleaf,” the twins said, one only a moment after the other. They had tried to remain out of the private conversation between Prince and Ranger but failed after hearing their Silvan friend’s dour conclusion.

The twins and human were eager to try to convince Legolas of the falsity of his belief, but luckily for the Prince, who could not have withstood another moment of the others staring at him or having this discussion while everyone listened on, Elrond and Thranduil were walking back towards them, and since the King was once again smiling, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel did not want to anger Thranduil lest they push him into leaving with the Prince, and so remained quiet. Legolas gave Arato a final pat and then turned to his King to hear what decision he had made.

“Come, ion nin,” Thranduil said as he once again took hold of Legolas’ arm. With a wave of his hand, Thranduil instructed Ninan to forget his earlier command, much to the relief of the other Elves, none of whom wanted Legolas to leave the valley. As did the Prince, they all understood what the King did not – perhaps Legolas had grown too dependent upon Elrond and his sons for the health of his faer, but without his Minyatar, brothers, and lover to soothe him, and with only his berating father for company, Thranduil would be proven right by Legolas’ death. Thranduil did not speak to Estel or the others, nor did he intimate about what he and Elrond had spoken, though he told Legolas, “Let us travel on. I am eager to get out of this rain.”

The laegel dutifully followed behind his father, taking his aid in mounting the horse, and then once his father was astride again, he wrapped his arms around his Ada’s middle and laid his head back down upon his King’s broad, muscled back. Just as suddenly as they had stopped, they were on their way again.


	27. Chapter 27

The rest of their ride to the valley was made in a gravid silence, one that Aragorn expected to birth another argument or more odium-filled invectives from Thranduil, but the weary travellers made it all the way into the courtyard without further incident. _I don’t think I have ever been happier to be home,_ the Ranger thought as he swung his leg over Arato’s back to slide off the massive stallion. Flinging the reins up over the saddle, the human gave the Prince’s horse a gentle pat of appreciation, thinking to Arato, _Thank you for not throwing me into a gulch, despite my twitching, grumbling, and foul temper._

At once, he went to where Thranduil and Legolas had stopped behind the others to help the Silvan Prince from off his father’s mount, but the Elvenking was already dismounted and had his arms out to catch Legolas should he fumble, though he let his son climb off the horse himself, rather than lift him down. Already irked by the King for what he thought he knew of Thranduil and Legolas’ conversation from earlier, Estel wanted nothing more than to push the King aside and take care of the Silvan Prince himself. Doing so would cause his foster father to clout him, he was sure of it, however, and so he stayed behind Thranduil until Legolas was on his feet.

When father and son stepped away from the King’s horse, which one of the stable hands already had control of to lead to the barn, Aragorn took the opportunity to insinuate himself between the King and Prince. He slipped his arm around the laegel’s waist, asking him, “Did you manage to sleep any while we rode? You look a bit more rested than before.”

More than likely, it was Imladris’ rejuvenescent presence that had refreshed Legolas, but either way, the Wood-Elf appeared healthier. Legolas smiled genuinely at the Ranger and nodded. “I think I fell asleep. Luckily, Ada makes a good pillow.”

When the King looked at the Adan, it was not with the hatred or ire that Estel expected from Thranduil. In fact, Thranduil first laughed at his son’s odd compliment and then smiled at the Ranger and Prince. He took a step back so that the human could access the Prince without his being in the way. “I think you should both sleep until noon tomorrow. And a well-deserved rest it will be.”

 _I wonder what Ada said to him,_ the Adan contemplated in confusion. It pleased him that his outburst had not changed the King’s opinion of him irrevocably, but as Thranduil was one to hold a grudge, Estel had to consider that the Elvenking was only playing at being gracious for the benefit of Legolas. _I suppose I will be the one receiving a lecture from Ada, rather than Thranduil, although Thranduil is the one hampering Legolas’ recovery with his talk of shame and blame._

With the horses led away, Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Thranduil, Ninan, Legolas, and Estel all stood together on the courtyard’s flagstones. For a moment, no one spoke, but no one moved either, for none of them was eager to leave the Wood-Elf Prince without being certain that Legolas would be cared for and not be alone. Slightly apart from the rest of them, Glorfindel and Erestor were standing close to each other, their eyes upon Elrond’s family and Thranduil, but from their intimate body language, it seemed to Estel that the two would soon find some private place in which to enjoy the other’s company. A twinge of jealousy caused the human to glower at them, though neither the commander nor advisor noticed it. _I am childish for being envious of their reunion, just because I may never be able to enjoy Greenleaf’s body again._ The memory of finding the two lovers in the library those many years ago came to Estel’s mind, and his scowl soon became a smile at the imagining of Glorfindel and Erestor perchance meeting up later in the same room in which the Prince and Adan had found pleasure together the night of the day they had learnt of Thranduil’s imminent arrival in the vale. _I wonder what they would do if I tracked them down and accidentally happened upon them again,_ he asked himself, grinning unabashedly at the two. Finally, Glorfindel noticed the Ranger’s odd behavior and gave him a quizzical glare, to which the human only shook his head.

Aragorn hugged the Prince’s waist more tightly. Earlier today, Legolas had said that he would give the remainder of his years to be able to relive one day of the month when he and a young Estel had traversed the forests around Imladris. Right now, Aragorn understood how Legolas felt, for he would give up some of his own comparatively fewer years to have the promise of being able to recreate or make new memories akin to the one in which he and Legolas had made love amongst the books of romantic prose in the massive Imladrian library.

Several minutes had passed since the King’s comment, but Estel replied nevertheless, though it was to Legolas that he said, “Noon seems entirely too early a time to wake, Greenleaf. Let us aim for dawn of the day after tomorrow.”

The Wood-Elf Prince chuckled half-heartedly and nodded his head. Behind where Elrond stood before the King, Ranger, and Prince, the twins hovered as if prepared to drag Legolas if he did not agree when Elrond asked of the Silvan Prince, “Let us go to the kitchens, Greenleaf, and we will find you something to eat. Surely by now you can eat without feeling ill?”

“We will have something brought to my rooms,” the King told them before Legolas could either agree or disagree. Thranduil was not unkind in saying this but he was being proprietorial, which irritated the Ranger to no end. Yes, Legolas was his son, but the human prayed that the King realized Elrond and his family were trying to help the Prince survive. However, Aragorn’s irritation vanished when the King explained, his hand flitting out to flick away from the laegel’s face an errant strand of Legolas’ grubby hair, “I admit that I am not keen to let you out of my sight any time soon, ion nin.”

To both his father and his Minyatar, Legolas demurred, “I promise you, I will eat. I will come to your rooms and we will eat together, but not before I have bathed. I cannot stand to be dressed in these bloody clothes any longer, nor can I eat anything with the grime of the Troll’s waste stuck to my teeth.”

The laegel looked down at himself. The summer night was dark from the obscuration of the sliver of moon by the heavy clouds overhead, but in anticipation of their Lord’s return with his esteemed guests, all the covered oil lamps in the courtyard were lit. By this hazy light, the Ranger gauged the Prince’s appearance as if seeing it through Legolas’ eyes. Aragorn’s shirt that he’d given the Elf to wear was gory with cruor from both Legolas’ own injury and Mithfindl’s blood, his bare feet and calves were still encrusted with mud, and he smelled awful – truth be told. _We both need a bath._ Although he imagined that Legolas might never desire physical pleasure again, the promise of simple affection while bathing had the Ranger’s heart fluttering. _I hope that he doesn’t turn me away from joining him._

As if in answer to the Ranger’s worry that his lover would shun him, the Prince shifted out of Aragorn’s embracing arm and he turned towards the house, thereby avoiding facing any of them when he explained, “Before anything, I wish to see Kalin. Where is he?”

Elladan and Elrohir stepped around their father and towards the laegel, with the younger saying, “Estel’s room. Or his room, now, I think it will be. He can have it, since Estel never sleeps there, anyway.”

Elladan added, coming close enough to reach out to Legolas, which he did, although he pulled his hand back before laying it upon the unseeing Wood-Elf’s shoulder. “I’ve always been fond of Kalin, but after hearing that he fell into a staked pit while pushing you out of the way of falling in, I think we will adopt him.”

Elrohir teased Legolas, telling him, “We needed another Wood-Elf brother, anyway, since you are more of a water-Elf these days.” His gaiety faltering, the younger twin became serious when he added, “After all Kalin has done for you, Greenleaf, how could we not consider him part of the family?”

Nodding in appreciation of the twins’ offer and kind words, Legolas’ cobalt eyes glimmered with unshed tears, though he beamed at the Noldor’s estimation of his sentry. “He is already like a brother to me, as are you two, so I see no reason why he shouldn’t be forced to endure you as do I.”

With this, the Elves around them laughed – even Thranduil, who had not been particularly kind to Kalin the day before his leaving with his Prince to find Mithfindl. The human suddenly questioned what would happen to Kalin, since Thranduil had removed Kalin from the King’s service. _Legolas will have his way, I think, and Kalin will end up resuming his position as Greenleaf’s head sentry… assuming that Kalin’s pride does not keep him from accepting this._ But knowing Kalin as he did, Aragorn thought that the Silvan sentry would jump at the chance to be his Prince’s protector once more.

Estel was just as willing to let Kalin into their mishmashed family as the twins were. Kalin had nearly slit the Adan’s throat days ago, but this only reinforced his resolve to welcome Kalin, as the sentry had been willing to risk Elrond’s wrath for killing Estel just to avenge his Prince. Trusting that he was not overstepping by offering this, Estel told them, “He can have my room permanently – I do not mind. I will move my things into Legolas’ room in time and my room can be kept for Kalin while he is in the valley. As long as Ada does not mind, that is,” the human added in afterthought. “And of course, as long as you do not mind, Greenleaf.”

Legolas gave Estel a tired and weak smile, though it was warm and honest, nonetheless. “I am sure that with a little rearranging, we can find space for your things in my rooms. In _our_ rooms,” the Elf corrected.

Once again, the Prince looked to the House, wherein his sentry would soon be found. When the Wood-Elf wobbled a bit on his feet, Estel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Thranduil all took a step forward as though to catch the Prince, though Legolas never noticed and never fell. The Silvan asked of his Minyatar, “Ninan said that you used vilya to heal Kalin. Is he well?”

“He is nearly healed, but the loss of blood weakened him. He is unsteady on his feet, as are you,” the healer commented while watching Legolas waver where he stood, “but a few days rest is all he needs before he will be back to his full strength. Although, as Kalin is now one of my sons,” the Peredhel mischievously concluded, his hands pressed together across his flat belly, “he may milk this injury for sympathy for days upon end, as Elladan and Elrohir are wont to do. And of course, he is always welcome in the Last Homely House, and I do not mind in the least that he takes Estel’s room.”

At hearing this good news and Elrond’s ribbing of the twins, Legolas laughed along with his second family. He nodded and told his Minyatar, “Thank you for healing him. For using vilya. He should not have had to suffer for my actions.”

“Nonsense,” Thranduil huffed in interruption, and then said much what Legolas had told Estel the day before, when the Ranger had questioned the Prince’s decision of leaving Kalin behind while he hunted Mithfindl, “Kalin saved your life. You are his Prince and it is his duty, his chosen calling. He would not consider it suffering, but an honor to have spared you pain and taken it for himself.”

 _He is right of that,_ the Ranger now recognized. Having found Kalin in the tree, injured and alone, the human had been beyond upset with the Prince for leaving his sentry; Kalin had told Estel this exact thing – that he was glad that it had been him injured rather than his beloved Prince. By now and after some thought, the Ranger saw how imprudent he had been to think otherwise. He could no longer hold it against Legolas for leaving his sentry. _Kalin must have been chomping at the bit to come along to greet his Prince,_ the human suddenly realized, causing him to think, _Their reunion will be a happy one. And once he’s out of the bed, I’m betting Kalin will never let Legolas out of his sight again._

They had been standing in the courtyard for some time now, none of them yet leaving until Legolas was on his way to where he intended to go. They had been milling around in a loosely knit group as they spoke; to Estel, it now seemed that they were all ready to depart and were only waiting for the Prince, who still stood and stared at the House. Legolas’ trepidation was palpable for his Adan lover. He wasn’t certain if the Silvan felt uneasy about speaking to his sentry or if Legolas merely did not want to go inside. _He might make a run for it,_ the Ranger mused, though he didn’t truly believe this would happen – not anymore, at least, since he and the Prince had spoken of doing this. _Greenleaf might just take off into the woods so that he isn’t forced to face anyone inside, or tomorrow, or the day after, and what this time spent trying to survive his sorrows will bring._

“You relieved him of his duty,” the laegel finally remarked and looked to his King, while chancing to incite his father’s anger with his declaration, “but he did not forsake his oath. I will keep him as my head sentry still,” the laegel firmly concluded, sounding to Estel very much as if he might fight his father to see that this was so.

How could Thranduil argue with the Prince over the matter? Kalin had just saved his son’s life, after all. “I would have it no other way,” the King stated, feigning surprise as if he had forgotten ever having dismissed Kalin from his service. Thranduil strode the few steps to stand beside his son, briefly placed his hand upon Legolas’ shoulder, and then nodded. “He has earned his position by his actions these past few days. Being your head sentry is a fine reward.”

“Yes, Ada. You are right,” the Prince told his King again with a loving, cheerful, and greatly relieved smile. “We can eat together later, if it pleases you, after I’ve seen Kalin and had a bath.”

“I will expect you. For now, I think I will find Faidnil and wash up, myself. I will have him send some clean, dry clothes for you,” Thranduil told Thranduilion, pausing to sweep the hair off Legolas’ shoulders before he began away to the house, saying as he went, “Goodnight, all.”

In some form or another, they all wished the Elvenking a good night, as well, and Ninan followed his King into the House, where he would escort Thranduil to his rooms, while Erestor and Glorfindel added their own well-wishing to those still standing in the courtyard before going inside, as well. Elrond and the twins lingered, for none of them were quite willing to leave the Prince to his own devices, as was Estel, which was why he offered, “I will go with you to see Kalin.”

The Ranger tried to take hold of the Wood-Elf’s hand but Legolas pulled it away before the Ranger could even touch his lover. Worried that the Prince was annoyed at him for some reason, Estel did not relent and next tried to lay his hand upon Legolas’ shoulder. Legolas allowed this for only a moment before he again moved away, although he smiled lovingly at Estel and told him, “I wish to speak to Kalin alone. If you would, call for some water and we will bathe when I am finished speaking to him. And then after I eat something, we will sleep,” he said to the human, his smile growing wider as he added, “I feel as if I could sleep for a week.”

Somewhat surly that he would be relinquishing his lover’s company for even a short time, the human agreed regardless. The Prince turned to his Minyatar and the twins to say his goodnights, but suddenly, Legolas stepped forward into the nearest twin, who happened to be Elladan. He held an arm out to the elder twin, who wrapped his arms around the Wood-Elf instinctually. The Prince’s free arm fumbled to the side, where Elrohir stood, and pulled him close, so that the three were mashed together in one embrace. “I am sorry that I yelled at you earlier,” Legolas told the identical Noldor. “Thank you for coming to look for me. You didn’t need to do it, but I will be forever grateful that you did.”

“Of course we needed to, Greenleaf. You would have been out looking for one or both of us in the same situation, and rightfully so,” the elder twin was quick to say.

As they were slightly taller than the lither Silvan, Elrohir and Elladan’s faces were visible to the Ranger and his foster father at that moment, and both identical brothers appeared relieved. Aragorn had been too busy earlier to notice that Legolas had yelled at Elladan and Elrohir and was surprised to hear it had happened; but then, the situation had been sudden and tense, so perhaps he ought not to have been.

Eventually, Legolas released the twins, who were reluctant to release Legolas, and then went to his waiting Minyatar, where he was welcomed in the Peredhel’s fatherly embrace. Neither Elrond nor Legolas said anything to the other, but they all heard as the Wood-Elf sighed heavily.

 _He hugs them and yet won’t let me even lay a hand upon his shoulder,_ the Adan rued, his gut moiling cripplingly to think of it. _He says that the scar is no more, so it cannot be because of it that he spurns me._ On the path, while Elrond had been speaking to Thranduil privately to try to convince him not to take the Prince from Imladris just yet, Estel had told Legolas that he knew the Prince thought he must face his grief alone, that he thought accepting comfort from his lover was tantamount to being the weakling that this father claimed the Prince to be. He’d not had the chance to speak to the laegel about this properly, but he soon would. _If he intends to shut me out, I will not have it,_ the Adan vowed to himself, jealousy sparking in his chest once again upon viewing the easy warmth that Elrond was able to give to Legolas.

“Promise me that you will eat something tonight, Greenleaf,” his foster father was asking of the Prince. Elrond had a hand on the back of the Silvan’s neck to incite the Wood-Elf into laying his head upon the elder Elf’s shoulder, which Legolas did gladly. “Promise me that you will find me if you have need. Do not hesitate.”

“I will Minyatar,” the Silvan replied as Elrond released him and he stepped back. The laegel turned around to Estel to tell him, “I won’t be long. I’m eager to be in bed, so don’t forget the water,” he reminded the Ranger with a mild grin of anticipation before heading towards the main entrance into the House. As one, the family slowly ambled their way into the House, as well.

Even though the Silvan had not seemed to want his touch or his presence for now, the Adan heaved a sigh of relief. If Legolas wanted to bathe with him and was promising to share his bed for the night, then he could be assured that he would have his chance to speak with his lover and set things to rights.

“Estel, do not long leave him alone,” his father was telling him quietly as they walked through the massive front entrance. Since they were all headed to the same part of the Last Homely House, Elrond and his sons could see Legolas as he turned the corner to the hall that would lead to the family’s wing. “I think Legolas desires solitude to dwell in his sorrow and to avoid facing the repercussions of what has happened and what he has done. Knowing our Greenleaf, he might go to great lengths to overcome his grief and perchance resurrect the scar.”

Aragorn had not thought of that possibility at all. When first the Prince had been attacked, the Wood-Elf had kept his turmoil, shame, and injuries secret, causing his faer’s agony to fester and worsen, and eventuating into the scar. _I will not let that happen again. If the scar is gone, then Legolas is already in much better condition than last time._ As they walked, they were each lost in their own thoughts. When the family turned the corner into the hall just before the family wing started, Estel saw Legolas speaking to his father at the King’s doorway, around which there were no guards posted any longer. Thranduil pulled Legolas to him for a brief hug, ere he released the laegel, leaving the Prince to shamble onwards to the family wing, to Kalin.

At the entrance to his rooms, Thranduil waited and watched as Elrond and his sons drew nearer on their way to their own quarters. With his arms crossed over his chest and his face set in determination, the King demanded once they were close to his door, “Come inside, Estel, please. I wish to speak to you.”


	28. Chapter 28

His twin brothers paused, both of them thinking the same thing – Thranduil wanted to argue. They would not leave Aragorn to bear the brunt of the King’s anger. However, Elrond hurried them along with a hand to each of their backs, saying, “Come. Let us go to the apothecary. I want to begin work to destroy the periapts at once.”

With their father unworried, Elrohir and Elladan gave a final vexed glance at Estel before they did as their Ada asked and continued to the family wing, where they would then set about the task of destroying the imprecated charms so that they could never be used again. No one had said this to the Adan yet, but the human thought that his family was sparing him the knowledge of knowing their fears for the Wood-Elf upon the destruction of the stones. Legolas had been forced to wear the periapt for longer than had any living thing. If their destruction had some ill effect upon the bearers of those stones, then because prior to recent weeks the stones had not been used for centuries, the Prince was also the only being still alive upon whom the stones had been used and thus the only one who was at risk. The one upon the Elf who stood before the Ranger now had lain limply in the King’s hair, meaning that it had never been worn long enough to start adhering to Thranduil’s scalp, and thus that it was likely never implemented by Mithfindl.

Unable to remove from his mind the bleakness with which he had seen Elrond look at Legolas, Aragorn could fathom no other reason for Elrond to have so little hope for the Prince. He refused to admit that his father thought there was no expectation for the laegel’s faer to recover, for Legolas to want to live. He desperately wanted to speak to his father. But he could also not turn down Thranduil’s invitation. There was no question of it – especially by Thranduil, who turned away and entered his rooms with the clear expectancy of Aragorn following. His arms still across his chest, Thranduil leant his rear against the back of the couch that faced the dead fireplace and did not offer the Ranger a seat.

Aragorn reluctantly walked into the King’s guest chambers, thinking, _Why do I get the feeling that Ada promised Thranduil this chance to shout at me?_ He closed the door behind him but stood near it, facing the Elvenking.

Faidnil was in the bedchambers just beyond the open archway between the sitting room and bedroom. From how he held up each item to his own body to gauge if the size of his King’s clothing was similar to the Silvan servant’s own slighter form, Estel guessed that Faidnil was gathering clothes for Legolas to wear. Thranduil did not so much as spare a glance at the servant when he began to speak to Estel. As blunt as ever, the Elvenking offered no preamble when telling the Ranger, “You misunderstand me, Estel. I do not blame Legolas. At least, not any longer. You did not hear all that was said.”

If Thranduil wanted to debate then Aragorn would try to be more respectful than he had earlier. The human had to admit that he had only heard part of the Prince and King’s conversation, and so decided to give Thranduil the benefit of the doubt. “You are right.”

There was once a time when Estel would never have dared to speak to Thranduil as an equal. A shift had occurred between them. Whereas before, Estel had only ever encountered the Elvenking whilst in Mirkwood, and thus under Thranduil’s roof, Thranduil was now a guest in Elrond’s house and while here, the King no longer had absolute say about what occurred. Indeed, before all of this, Estel would have avoided even speaking to Thranduil, if able, because he had always tried to keep peace. But now, and more importantly, the Ranger felt that he and Thranduil were currently fighting over Legolas’ survival – or at least, how best to ensure it. Aragorn was certain Thranduil’s poor notion of parenting would end in the Prince’s death, whether well intentioned or not. The Ranger was convinced that what the Wood-Elf needed was his and his family’s encouragement and protection, not Thranduil’s bullying. He would not avoid this argument any longer – not with Legolas’ life in the balance.

“You are right,” he repeated. Even Thranduil’s stunned frown did not stop the young human from continuing with a candor similar to Thranduil’s bluntness, “I only heard Greenleaf taking the blame for your anger once again.”

“Which is why you are wrong in your assumptions and why I know you did not hear all that was said,” Thranduil insisted. “What my son and I spoke of was private and I will not repeat it here for you, but I do not lay the culpability of any of this upon Legolas. Nor do I blame you, as you suggested that I do instead of Legolas.”

Again, Estel was willing to give the King the benefit of the doubt. Thranduil was devious and sometimes misleading, but he did not lie. “Whatever it was you told him, you only bring up the very doubts I have worked so hard to belie. Legolas wishes for death,” he rejoindered to the King, thinking this was not how he would have wanted to tell Thranduil that his son wished to die, but it seemed the Elvenking knew this already, anyway, and did not appear surprised. “Do not give him any more cause to desire it.”

Standing up from his recline against the back of the couch, Thranduil’s face was still and stoic, but all color drained from his features. “He is not some fragile Elfling. I am his father; you are merely his lover, not even his bonded mate, and not even his lover for his lifetime! You have no right to presume to decide what is best for my son. You care only that he lives long enough for you to die first. Have you thought nothing of what happens afterwards?”

Estel’s mouth opened to instantly deny what the King charged – that the human was so selfish that he would string Legolas’ life along until he had been given the chance to enjoy the Wood-Elf for as long as Estel wanted or for as long as Estel lived. _Is that truly what Thranduil thinks of me?_ the human wondered in shock. And yet, whatever the Ranger intended to argue back to Thranduil was lost and his mouth snapped shut at the slow realization that what the King said was partially true. For months, Aragorn had taken upon himself the task of being Legolas’ keeper. He had not chosen to devote his every waking moment to the Prince out of thinking that Legolas was fragile or an Elfling, but because he loved the Elf. The King definitely had the Ranger’s motives wrong, but he was right about Legolas’ future. If Estel were all that might keep the Prince from choosing to fade, then what would happen upon Aragorn’s death?

For the first time the human had ever seen, the King’s face was regretful. He further surprised the Ranger by telling him, “I am sorry, Estel. I should not have said that. But you are shortsighted. I see there is nothing I can do to come between you and Legolas. I see he has chosen you, and for my son’s sake, I no longer seek to interrupt it. But when you have died, whether of injury or old age,” the Elvenking argued tiredly but patiently to the Ranger, “my son will die.”

Thranduil was telling him nothing he didn’t already know. He thought of his death’s effect on the Wood-Elf Prince at least once a day. For years, Estel hid his love for Legolas even from himself, as he’d never thought that Legolas would return it. He had never contemplated having a relationship with Legolas except in dreams, and so had never worried about the repercussions of it. That night several months ago, kneeling in the cool brook with Legolas nude before him, the Ranger had thought of nothing but telling the Silvan how he felt. The repercussions of doing so had not even crossed his mind. But they were beyond that now, and there was no going back to how it had been before the two friends had become lovers. He now knew the truth of how much Thranduil loved Thranduilion. Aragorn had reconciled himself to knowing Legolas might die upon his death, but to be reminded of the effects of the Elf’s death upon those whom Legolas would leave behind was humbling to the Ranger.

“If Legolas does not learn to overcome his grief now, then there is no hope for his living beyond your death,” Thranduil continued before the Ranger could think of how to respond. The crux of his dilemma to be laid bare, Thranduil lowered his gaze and stared off into the where the floor and walls of the distant corner met. With the brutal honestly for which Thranduil was known, the King told the Ranger, “Most of all, I wish that he would learn to live with his grief, inherit the Greenwood, and secure my bloodline with an Elleth of our own people. I will settle for having him live. But I would rather him die now than have him endure years of being tormented by his sorrow ere he only dies in more grief upon your passing.”

He knew the Elf-King was right. There was no denying it. _I have been shortsighted, just as he said, and have thought little of what everyone else would endure in Legolas’ passing upon my death._ But he would never concede that the King’s method of bolstering his sons’ will to live was at all useful, but only detrimental. He would not have thought ever to agree with the King, but he could see the acumen in Thranduil’s argument. Selfishly, he wanted Legolas to survive so he would not have to live without the Silvan. It had never once occurred to him that since the laegel would live only for as long as he did, Legolas might only be lingering in agony of his faer until finally giving in upon Aragorn’ demise. The Ranger felt like a fool for not thinking of it. His own life was fleeting in comparison to the Elves around him. It might take a millennium for Legolas to be as carefree and joyous as he had once been, but Aragorn would not be around for it, and neither would the Prince be if he only lived for as long as did Estel.

Aragorn would not discuss this with Thranduil nor would he show the King his words had hit the Ranger low. He conceded only this, “I wish for Legolas never to die. I would do whatever it takes to see this is so. And I want for his life to be joyful. So we share the same intentions – do not doubt it. Our methods are very different, however, and it is the manner of your trying to strengthen Legolas that will kill him.”

“You will not always be there to hold his hand and lie to him, telling him that all will be fine.” The King’s ire was roused now, after having Estel question how he treated his son. Thranduil stood to his full height and took a step towards the human, his blue eyes almost black in the scant candlelight of the room. “He is a grown Elf. You are not his nanny.”

“Perhaps you could offer succor to your son, so that when I am no longer alive, he can turn to his father for strength and comfort rather than bruises and belittling,” he exclaimed, finding himself taking a step toward Thranduil. Estel was surprised by his own vindictiveness but he had reached his limit with the King.

The Elvenking took yet another step forward, his mouth set in a grim line. However, the forgotten Silvan servant in the bedchambers stepped into the sitting room, which drew both Thranduil and Estel’s attention to him. Faidnil interrupted without apology for doing so, saying calmly, “I am married.”

Bewildered, Estel quieted and looked at the ancient Elda, while Thranduil immediately forgot about the Ranger, as if he couldn’t be bothered to be angry when something more interesting was being said by Faidnil. Thranduil spoke to his servant, saying with no trace of the anger that had also now dissolved from his face, “Yes, I remember. She sailed for Valinor shortly after I was crowned, when you became my steward. Harena, her name is, isn’t it?”

Faidnil walked farther into the room, the clothes he would take to his Prince carefully folded and lying over his arm. “Yes, Harena. When our two sons both died in the Last Alliance with King Oropher, she despaired of Middle Earth and desired to depart. But my work here was not yet done and so I remained behind to see that you were settled in as our new King.”

The human was confused. The same King whose arrogation and arrogance caused him to rant at anyone who questioned him or interrupted him was listening intently to his servant speak of something that to the Adan was random.

When he saw that his King was listening intently, Faidnil continued, “When Harena heard of our sons’ deaths upon our return to the Greenwood, she fell into a depression that nothing I could do would assuage. Having had his fill of war and strife and sorrowed that he had survived the battle while his grandsons had not, Harena’s father wished to leave for the Undying Lands and wished her to accompany him. I did not want to lose my wife, my only family this side of the sea, and for days, her father and I argued bitterly between the two of us, both of us thinking that we knew what was best for my sweet Harena. When she told me that she would sail, I thought her father had convinced her to do so and tried to convince her otherwise. Long did I delay her, and thus her father, while arguing against her going.”

Expecting still for Thranduil to be irate at being given unasked for advice from a servant, Estel looked to the Elf-King in anticipation of his derogation or wrath; however, Thranduil was looking to Faidnil with a thoughtful expression. Easily, the King and Adan saw themselves in the servant’s story. Though the details were different, clearly both Thranduil and Estel thought that only they knew what was best for Legolas, which was why they had always been at odds. With a start, the Ranger realized that the few times he and Thranduil had been in accord were those times in which they had agreed about what they believed to be best for Legolas.

“It was then,” Faidnil told his King and the Ranger, walking to stand between them, his genial deportment as unobtrusive and stately as ever, “that her father and I understood that our arguing and our thinking we knew what was best for her were only causing her more grief. And it was then that we understood only Harena knew what was best for Harena. And so, although she decided to sail in the end, I knew it was what she wanted for herself, not for her father and not for me.”

In wonder still that Thranduil had been willing to listen to this uncomplainingly, the Ranger watched the Elvenking nod and then say, “She is as smart as the crack of a whip, as I recall.”

“Yes, she is. And one day, when you sail, I will see her again, unless Prince Legolas needs me,” the servant wistfully stated, although he added, “except I think Kalin will ever be closer an ally to our Prince than I could be, and quite right that it should be so.” Faidnil smiled kindly at both his King and the human. He stood there silently for a moment, letting his story sink in, which reminded Estel so much of his foster father’s patient manner of giving counsel that Aragorn’s anger finally broke completely and he smiled in return at Faidnil.

_I will never agree with what Thranduil thinks is right for Greenleaf because Thranduil is a self-serving, conceited bastard who thinks his son ought to be like him – cold, calculating, and cruel. And yet, Faidnil has hit the proverbial nail on the head. It is up to Greenleaf to decide whether to accept his father’s advice, his anger, and his abuse – not me._

“Have you need of anything else tonight, your Majesty?” Faidnil asked his King, which pulled Estel from his thoughts.

“No, my friend,” Thranduil called Faidnil, which seemed to Estel to be uncharacteristic for the King.

“And you?” he asked of Estel as he turned to him, further surprising the Ranger, who in reflection had been stroking the long growth of stubble upon his face that would soon turn into a beard. “Do you require anything, Estel?”

At that moment, Aragorn remembered what Kalin had told him days ago. Kalin had said that Faidnil had aided him in straightening the mess Kalin had made in Estel’s room while pulling the linens from the bed to treat the Prince, after Legolas had been attacked by Mithfindl in the pleasance. The sentry had told Aragorn that if Faidnil was willing to clean for him, then the servant had accepted Estel as Legolas’ mate, which according to Kalin was the first hurdle in having the rest of the Wood-Elves accept the human as their Prince’s consort. It comforted Estel to think that Faidnil might truly welcome him as Legolas’ lover, for Faidnil had the King’s ear, it was clear.

He started to say no to the servant’s offer but then remembered he was supposed to be obtaining bathwater for Legolas, and so told Faidnil, “Greenleaf is covered in mud. He asked me to inquire about bathwater. Warm water, if it can be had.”

“Of course. I will see to it personally. And will you be helping him, or shall I wait in his rooms for his return?” the servant inquired with a perceptive smile and lift of his grey eyebrows, his hands clasped in front of him while draped over his arm and held tight to his robe were the clothes he would soon take to his Prince’s rooms for him.

Once again, Estel was unable to keep from smiling at the ancient Elf. “No need, thank you. I will help him.”

“Good, good. I will make certain that enough water for a rinse and a bath is brought. We know how much our Legolas loves to be clean,” Faidnil replied, giving both Thranduil and Estel a chiding look, as if he were a parent speaking of his well-behaved child while warning his misbehaving children to be good during his absence. And with that, he exited the room and left Estel and Thranduil alone.

The Elvenking laughed. It was a merry sound. The Ranger had been in a constant state of bafflement since Faidnil began speaking, but hearing Thranduil laugh threw him into evermore confusion. He could not recall ever hearing the King laugh so freely and with such delight. _He sounds just like Legolas when he laughs like that,_ the human absently thought.

“He is right, you know,” the King commented, walking to where his washstand sat. Thranduil pulled off his finely made tunic, poured water into the basin, and then procured a towel before he went on, saying, “Faidnil is always right. If ever you need to know the truth of a matter, ask Faidnil. He might rival your father in wisdom.”

Previous to now, had anyone ever told the Ranger that someone other than the Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn was as wise as was his foster father, Aragorn would not have believed it. But he had to agree of Faidnil’s astuteness, “I think that is fair to say.”

He watched as Thranduil splashed water onto his face and then wiped it off with the soft, pure white towel. The King’s merriment suddenly died when he said, “He is my son. He is all that I have. Do you understand this, Estel? I will do whatever it takes to see that he survives, but only if we are not merely prolonging his grief.”

“It does not need to be one or the other,” he found himself saying in conciliation. He walked farther into the room when Thranduil crossed his bedroom to the other side, where he sat on the small bench at the end of the bed to pull off his boots. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps my father, my brothers, and I have coddled him too much, but you have done so too little. As Faidnil alluded, it must be Greenleaf’s choice whether to live or die, or perchance sail, if that suits him.”

Before he had even finished, Thranduil was nodding his agreement, but Estel was not yet done. “As long as we agree,” the Ranger warned the King, yet again surprised at his temerity, “that there can be no more violence. Greenleaf has suffered enough. You do not toughen him by striking him, by inveighing his character, or by casting blame onto him for things over which he has no control.”

A fierce frown flashed over the King’s face, his easily provoked wrath lighting to the surface with the human’s words; however, Thranduil nodded, saying, “He has suffered enough, not the least of which is from my sometimes unwarranted anger. But likewise, Estel, I would have you and your kin to stop treating him like an invalid, as if he were brittle. He is a Prince, a warrior – not a victim.”

It would be challenging for all of them. It was in the human’s nature to want to protect Legolas, to spare his feelings, and to treat him like a cherished prize. He would need to stop. Thranduil treated Thranduilion as if Legolas were weak in a misguided attempt to indurate the Prince, to strengthen his character. Estel treated the Silvan as if he were weak because he loved him and wanted to protect him. But Legolas was no victim and no child. Not only was Legolas thousands of years older than Estel and thus had more life experience and wisdom, but he was a warrior and a crown Prince, as Thranduil had just reminded the human.

 _Greenleaf has lived through more heartache and injury than most anyone else would want to survive,_ he cogitated as he had before, while Thranduil watched on, waiting for the Ranger’s compliance. _But Thranduil is right. If I truly want to show Greenleaf that I love him, I must stop treating him like an Elfling._

Finally, the Ranger nodded and told the King, “Agreed,” but then added, “I cannot speak for my father or brothers, however.”

“And I did not expect you to. Elrond and I have already discussed this in private,” Thranduil intimated without offering further information. The King invited, holding his hand out towards the entrance in none too subtle instruction, “Go, then. Bathe and rest, Estel. And when you are done, if you wish, come with Legolas to eat with me.”

Thranduil was already pulling on a dressing robe, his back to the Ranger, and the King’s dismissal of him obvious. Without answering, the human walked out of the bedroom and into the guest sitting room, his head spinning with guilty confusion from his conversation with the Elvenking.


	29. Chapter 29

Legolas did not bother knocking as he entered Estel’s room, which was now to be Kalin’s chambers, from what the twins and Elrond told him. In the light of a single candle by the bedside, Legolas could see that Kalin was on his side with his eyes closed and his body still, but Kalin was not sleeping. Indeed, the moment that the light from the hallway crept over his eyes, the sentry lifted his head to see who had come within the room.

“Legolas. Thank the Valar,” the sentry called out stridently, a relieved grin spreading over his fair features when he saw it was his Prince.

The Silvan Prince returned his sentry’s smile. He left the door slightly ajar and walked to the bedside, watching as his sentry struggled to sit. Although Elrond had healed Kalin completely, the sentry was still recuperating from having lost too much blood – a condition that vilya could better but not heal entirely, which was the same for Legolas, who was now healed but faring poorly due to his near exsanguination and malnourishment.

“You have no notion,” he told his sentry, “of how pleased I am that you are well, my friend.” The Prince shambled closer to sit in a chair that was already beside the bed, but soon leant forward to aid Kalin in turning on his back and propping his upper body up upon the pillows.

“I am fine,” Kalin insisted. The Silvan sentry looked somewhat ashamed that he needed help but more so that his Prince was the one who had to help him. “I am relieved to see you, my Prince. Are you well?” the sentry asked. “What happened, Legolas? When you did not return to me as you promised, I feared the worst.”

Legolas turned his face down to the floor, the smile falling from it quickly. “Tomorrow, Kalin. I will tell you everything tomorrow, I promise. I am too tired, too hungry, and too filthy to tell you tonight. But suffice to say, Mithfindl is dead by my hand. Everyone has returned safely – except Mithfindl – and all will be well, I think.”

“Thank Ilúvatar,” the sentry whispered, his own grin only growing wider to hear Legolas had found his vengeance. Unexpectedly, Kalin did not question the younger Elda further but took his promise to explain tomorrow and let it be. Legolas had been prepared to be interrogated regardless and was relieved Kalin was put off the subject so easily.

As the sentry looked over his charge, he noted the mud and strange, white dust that coated Legolas, saw the blackness surrounding the younger Elf’s eyes, and could tell his Prince was fatigued. Eager to be of service to his Prince, Kalin threw back the light blanket that laid over him and tried to swing his legs off the mattress, offering, “Then let us find you something to eat. I can help you bathe, if you wish.”

With his hands held out to stop the sentry, Legolas smiled once more at his indomitable sentry’s unfathomable love for him. _He lies in bed after nearly dying and yet wants to risk his well-being just to help me bathe._ The Prince could not have a better friend, he knew, save for the twins and Estel, and it brought unwelcome tears to his eyes to think he had nearly lost Kalin all for the sake of his trying to find revenge against Mithfindl. He told Kalin, “Peace, my friend. In a moment, I will go to my rooms and bathe with Estel, and I have promised my father that after doing so I will come to his rooms to eat. I am looked after, do not worry.”

The Wood-Elf Prince spread the blanket back over his sentry’s legs. Although it was clear from Kalin’s dejection that he wished to be up and about to help Legolas, he did not argue. When Legolas wearily plopped back down in the chair, the two Wood-Elves sat in companionable silence for a moment. He watched Kalin’s face as the elder Elf struggled with his words – clearly, Kalin needed to tell him something and Legolas was quite certain he knew what it would be. Legolas reached out to take Kalin’s forearm in hand, hoping to alleviate his sentry’s awkward dithering.

After several long moments of quiet in which Kalin opened his mouth to speak several times before closing it, the sentry guiltily told his Prince, “Legolas. I am sorry I left the trail for Estel to find.” Kalin paused, frowned, and then thought better of his words. “No, I am not sorry I left the trail. I cannot apologize for that, since while I do not know whether Estel’s following us aided you, the mere chance it could have is enough for me to risk your wrath. However, I am sorry I lied to you. If you wish to shout at me or want to send me away for my disobedience, then I can only say I am overjoyed that you are alive and here to castigate me.”

It was only half an apology, but since Legolas figured Kalin owed him no apology at all, he took it graciously. “You are forgiven,” he told his sentry simply, squeezing Kalin’s arm in friendly affection. “But I will hear no more of it. I know you did what you felt you had to do in order to keep me safe, Kalin, and while it pained me to know you lied to me, I now understand you acted as my friend rather than my sentry, which is what I needed most at the time.”

Kalin sighed noisily and nodded, his shoulders dropping in utmost respite to hear that Legolas was not livid nor holding a grudge. Coughing into his sleeve a few times, the sentry reached for a glass upon the nightstand only to find it was empty. Suddenly, a flush began spreading up Kalin’s neck and face, which bemused the Prince until Kalin asked, “I am sorry to ask you, but will you fetch me the jug of water? I cannot seem to drink enough. I am sorry.”

“Hush,” he told Kalin gently, reminding the sentry, “you have been my nursemaid countless times when I have needed the aid. I am glad to return the favor.” Successfully hiding how his body was wont to lurch and shimmy in the effort, Legolas stood and crossed to the fireplace, where upon the mantel sat a perspiring, ceramic jug of cool, fresh water. He brought it back to the bed and filled the glass upon the nightstand to its top. He sat the jug upon the table and took the glass in hand. “It must be the loss of blood making us so thirsty. I think I have drunk a bathtub full of water in the last day and I still thirst.”

“You were injured?” His sentry took the glass given to him but paid it no mind, for his Prince’s words had intimated that Legolas had nearly bled to death, as had he nearly done. “Are you certain you are well?”

Legolas regarded his sentry warmly. Always, Kalin cared more for his Prince than for himself. It was a strange relationship they had, the two of them being friends but with Kalin a servant to Legolas – and yet, the Prince knew it suited Kalin just fine. He assured the older Silvan, “I was, but I am fine now. Elrond has seen to it. Stop worrying over me,” he coaxed, although asking such a thing from Kalin was useless.

Mollified by this temporarily, the parched sentry tried to have his fill of the water. Legolas kept watch as Kalin drank, for the sentry’s hands were shaking just as much as were the Prince’s hands and he did not want the sentry to be shamed by spilling the water all over himself like an Elfling. Because he sat too far down in the bed, Kalin had trouble tilting the glass properly, which made Legolas take the cup back and sit it upon the nightstand before Kalin could dribble it down his chin. Kalin allowed this but gave his Prince a questioning frown.

“Let us sit you up for a while.” The Prince slid his hands under his sentry’s arms and tried to lift him enough so that Kalin could sit properly against the headboard, but his own weakness was evinced by his shaking arms and his soft grunt of exertion.

“Do not injure yourself,” Kalin nervously contended, though he accepted the aid offered him.

When finally the sentry was sitting upright, Legolas passed him the water glass and laughed, teasing Kalin, “Would you rather I find Elladan or Elrohir to assist you? I am certain they wouldn’t mind.”

The frankly alarmed expression upon Kalin’s face made Legolas laugh outright once more, while his mischievous threat was enough to silence Kalin’s objections. They both knew what it was like to have Elrond’s twin sons fuss over them. Now that Kalin was settled and his thirst slaked, Legolas once again reseated himself in the chair beside the bed. “Are Estel’s rooms suitable for you?” he asked his sentry. “Is there anything you need brought to you? I am not certain if they told you, but Elrond and his family have made these rooms yours now. You can change them however you wish, once we have moved all of Estel’s belongings into my own rooms.”

The Silvan sentry grimaced as he shifted to a more comfortable position, but he then looked to his Prince in surprise. “I am a sentry,” he started, though he then amended, “well, at least, I _was_ your sentry. Now I am no one. I cannot stay in the family wing of Elrond’s house. I will find some other room in which to stay until I am better, and then I will go into the barracks with Glorfindel’s warriors until I determine what I ought to do. Your father did not banish me from Mirkwood, I think, but if he has, I suppose I ought to beg Glorfindel to allow me to be in his service,” Kalin despondently suggested, for the very thought of his not being able to return home to Eryn Galen and thus losing his ability to keep watch over Legolas would remove the sentry’s life’s purpose.

“Nonsense.” The Wood-Elf hid his own grimace of pain as he rose from the chair long enough to grab for Kalin another pillow, which he then helped place behind the Silvan’s back so that he did not recline against the hard headboard. “I have already spoken with Elrond and Estel, and as I have said, they insist that you take this room permanently. Elrond says that it will be kept for you and that you are welcome to stay here in the Last Homely House for as long as you wish, whenever you wish. Moreover, Elladan and Elrohir told me that as far as they are concerned, you are now another brother.”

Both the sentry’s parents were dead; both had died in service to their King during the Battle of the Five Armies. Long a sentry of the Prince and several millennia old by the time of his parents’ deaths, Kalin had been left without family of any kind save for some distant cousins in Lothlórien whom he did not know – well, that is, no family other than Legolas, whom Kalin had always loved like family as well as loving Legolas as his Prince. For the sentry to hear now that he was being accepted into Elrond’s household and family – as had Estel and Legolas been accepted, despite not being related by blood – made the Wood-Elf’s mouth fall open in shock.

When after a few moments the sentry still could not find a response to this news, the Prince chuckled, suggesting to Kalin, "It is both a blessing and a curse to be brothers to Elrohir and Elladan, but you will find that being considered a part of Elrond’s family means you will never need to worry about having a place to go when there is nowhere else you feel you belong.”

Misunderstanding Legolas and thinking his words meant that his worst fears were true and that he was no longer welcome in the Greenwood, a very vexed Kalin responded, his face paling until he appeared wraithlike in the faint amber candlelight, “I do not mean to sound ungrateful, for I am beyond thankful to Elrond and his sons, to be certain, but I was rather hoping the King would eventually change his mind about removing me from his service. And now it seems he has barred me from returning home?” the sentry questioned.

Startled to hear this and realizing Kalin had misunderstood him, Legolas replaced his hand upon his sentry’s forearm as he told him, “Don’t fret about it, my friend. I have already told our King this and he could not disagree, being that you have only just been injured while saving my life – you are my sentry, not my father’s sentry, and as long as you wish it, the position of head sentry is yours.”

At this, Kalin smiled widely. He placed his hand upon the younger Elf’s hand that lay on Kalin’s forearm. His joy to hear his Prince had stood up to their King over the matter was heartening to the Silvan. “Then you are stuck with me forever, Legolas, for I am never leaving your side.”

Legolas laughed heartily. A shadow passed across the room as someone walked by in the hallway, and soon, the slightly open door was pushed inwards to show Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. They did not wait for an invitation before coming inside, with Elrohir saying, “I thought I heard our Silvan brothers laughing!”

“How unfair of them to have fun without us,” Elladan bemoaned jokingly, shaking his head in false lamentation.

With his twin sons behind him, Elrond walked inside and to the opposite side of the bed, immediately asking Kalin, “How do you feel, young one?”

“I am fine, I am fine,” the sentry assured the Peredhel, saying this as if he had said it to Elrond many times before over the last day or so. “I promise you, my Lord.”

So much like Legolas did Kalin sound, so much like how the Prince had repeatedly tried to persuade his second family he was well over the last few months, and so disbelieving did Elrond look upon hearing this, that the laegel could not help but to laugh again. While the twins were grinning at him, their joy to see Legolas’ exuberance lightening their fear for him, Elrond only smiled at the Prince forlornly, which sobered the Wood-Elf’s gaiety. He pulled his hand free from Kalin’s arm and held them tightly together in front of him to stop their shaking. For some reason, since finding them in the forest, Elrond had been giving Legolas this same look – as if Elrond were waiting for Legolas to die right before his eyes, or as if he were displeased with Legolas. It unnerved the laegel. The twins had seen this strange interaction and glanced inquisitively between the Prince and Peredhel, for they wondered why their father was not as happy to see Legolas enjoying himself. Even Kalin noticed the odd way in which Elrond stared at Legolas, it seemed, for he instinctively reached out to take hold of his Prince’s clasped hands, as if by this hold he could forfend the imminent death by despair that the Peredhel’s melancholy foretold.

The laegel thought vaguely, looking down to where Kalin’s hand held tight to his own, _He looks at me as if he is disappointed._ Nothing could currently hurt the Prince more than his Minyatar being upset with him. His thoughts turned to Mithfindl. Despite Elrond’s verbal acceptance of Legolas’ actions and despite that he had thanked the laegel for saving Estel by slitting Mithfindl’s throat, Legolas still feared Elrond would never forgive him for slaying one of his own people.

“If either of you have need of anything, do not hesitate to find me at once. We will be in the apothecary,” Elrond told the Silvan Elves, asking of Kalin what he had earlier asked of Legolas in adding, “Promise me.”

The sentry’s cheerfulness absent now, as well, Kalin solemnly oathed, “I will, my Lord Elrond.”

While Elrond nodded and then began to leave, the twins lingered a moment. Although they had only just hugged the laegel a short while ago when saying their goodnights, first Elladan and then Elrohir paused to throw their arms around Legolas again, squeezing him tightly in turn, ere they each clapped Kalin upon his blanketed leg in silent farewell. Now they were gone, Legolas looked to Kalin to see his sentry was staring at him with unveiled, renewed concern.

He did not know why Elrond seemed distant from him and did not want to speak of it now, and so before Kalin could begin his inevitable inquiries, Legolas changed the focus of his sentry’s attention, saying, “I should thank you, firstly, for saving my life, Kalin, but I also need to apologize to you.” Although he had forgiven Estel for saying Legolas was selfish for his actions, the Elf still needed to know that Kalin held no grudge so he could forgive himself. Kalin had told his Prince to leave him in the forest but Kalin’s understanding would soothe the last of his worries on the matter. “I should not have left you to fend for yourself,” he told Kalin. “I am sorry.”

Before the laegel had even finished speaking, Kalin was shaking his head in negation of his Prince’s apology. “I wanted you to leave me and I am glad you did. Besides,” the sentry told him as he sat his forgotten, now empty glass upon the nightstand, “Mithfindl is dead. That is the best outcome we could hope for, do you not think?”

Legolas took a deep breath and then sighed. Thus far, no one had expressed anything but contentment to know that the vile Noldorin warrior was dead. And yet, his remorse over Mithfindl’s death would not be placated until he knew his Minyatar did not hold a grudge over it, if that was indeed what was causing Elrond’s strange mood. “Yes,” he agreed readily enough but said no more.

Neither Elrond nor his sons had shut the door after leaving, so when Faidnil walked by a few moments later, Legolas saw his father’s servant, who carried over his arm clothing that the Prince knew was meant for him to wear after his bath. At seeing his Prince and Kalin within Estel’s room, Faidnil came to stand in the doorway. “Prince Legolas. It is good to see you returned in one piece. Estel has requested warm bathwater and I have brought some of your father’s clothing for you to wear afterwards. So that it doesn’t get cold, shall I hold off on the water until you have finished visiting with Kalin?”

Legolas was more than exhausted. In all his many years, he had never felt so tired, so weak, nor so filthy. Eager to at least be clean, the younger Wood-Elf told Faidnil, “No, please, Faidnil. Send it on. If it grows cold, I will use it anyway.”

“Then I will go now to fetch it for you, my Prince. Sleep well, Kalin.” The ancient Silvan bowed slightly and then walked onwards to his Prince’s room, while Kalin and Legolas watched him leave.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer until Legolas reluctantly stood. He ambled wearily over to the Ranger’s wardrobe and pulled from it the first pair of leggings and shirt he could find so Estel would have clean clothing to wear after his bath and would not need to disturb Kalin to find it, all the while asking his sentry, “Is there anything that you need before I go, my friend? Can I help you with anything?”

“No, but thank you.” Having seen his Prince’s fall in good humor, Kalin now watched Legolas with renewed worry, but he did not question him, for despite wanting to ascertain what troubled his Prince, he could tell the younger Elf was beyond tired. Tomorrow, however, Legolas could expect to be asked of it. “I will be right here, should you need me,” the sentry offered.

“And I will be right across the hall, should you need me,” he said in return offer with a passing smile. “Call out should you need anything. Estel or I will hear you, I am sure.”

The Adan’s clothing in hand, the Prince left the room and shut the door softly behind him. He paused there in the corridor to look both ways for anyone coming, and then seeing that he was alone, pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes to stem the moisture gathering there. He had thought speaking to Kalin would ease his sorrow; it had, but only until Legolas had seen his Minyatar. With a heavy heart, the Silvan Prince walked across the hallway to his chambers, expecting that Faidnil would be within, but the servant had already gone to obtain bathwater, as he had promised. Faidnil had lit the oil lamp upon the mantel but everything outside the irregular ring of illumination from the lamp was shadows.

He sat upon his bed, heedless of the mess he might make with his befouled clothing. Unsurprisingly, at some point during his absence, his chambers had been cleaned spotless, the bed was remade with fresh linens, and everything was in impeccable order – no doubt, Faidnil had done all of this, since he fretted over his King and Prince’s things as much as he fretted over them. _Where is Estel?_ he pondered. For the first time since he had saved the human from drowning in the Bruinen, Legolas was alone, and without the distraction of someone nearby, his grief began to lap at his faer like the sea plashes at the shore.

The Wood-Elf was at odds with himself. His father was right, he knew. He had come to depend upon Estel, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, and Kalin too much. He had enfeebled himself merely by showing his weakness to them. But he also knew that he could not face his sorrow without their comfort and acceptance. The tired laegel lay upon his side on the bed, hugged Estel’s clothes to his chest as if they were the Ranger himself, and wondered whether it was feasible for him to live when everything that he was, his every thought, and his every volition was set upon his dying. Unknowingly, the drained laegel closed his eyes. 


	30. Chapter 30

Still wishing he could speak to his foster father, Aragorn forsook this desire so that he could check on Legolas. He had already stopped by his room, where he had pressed his ear to the door to listen in for signs that the Prince was within, but had heard nothing. And so, when he entered the Wood-Elf’s chambers, he expected to find the laegel within and was not disappointed. Curled up with his knees drawn tight to his chest, Legolas laid upon the blanketed bed still wearing his relatively clean but rain soaked trousers, equally soaked and bloodied and muddied shirt, and with his less filthy but still mud caked feet upon the blanket. Estel padded softly to the bed, debating whether to wake Legolas until the last moment – that is, until Faidnil arrived with the bathwater.

 _Is he even breathing?_ he suddenly worried, for the unbidden thought came to be him that the too-still Wood-Elf might be dead.

Since his injuries were healed, there was no physical reason for the Elf to be in pain or for his breathing to be constrained, lest it was some effect of his grief. However, the Prince usually breathed softly – this the human knew. So softly did Legolas usually breathe, in fact, that many were the times over the course of their friendship – while in the wilds or in this very bed – that Aragorn often had laid a hand upon Legolas’ chest to feel for himself the rise and fall of the Prince’s chest. Now, as he peered on in mounting worry, the Ranger relaxed upon noting how the Wood-Elf’s mouth twitched in his reverie, but regardless, he felt compelled to place a hand upon the Elf’s chest anyway. In doing so, in the dim light of the only lamp lit, the human noticed something odd.

 _Is that my clothing that he holds?_ the Ranger wondered, seeing that Legolas had in his arms a pair of the human’s trousers and a long, loose shirt suitable for sleeping. _He must have brought them from Kalin’s room,_ he decided, a swell of emotion rising up within him from the simple thoughtfulness of his lover finding clothing for him to wear.

Such a small thing it was, but even so, Aragorn didn’t think he would ever take for granted that the Prince wished to take care of him. He loved Legolas more than he loved anyone and more than he would ever love another ever again. To have just promised Thranduil that he would treat the Wood-Elf Prince with a firmer hand rankled the Ranger’s nerves, but he would keep this promise if it meant Legolas would live a happy and full life. With a loving, gentle sweep of his hand, Aragorn pushed aside the hair that hung in tousled ropes over the Elf’s face. A dire, sweet ache overwhelmed him, lancing across his torso with such intensity that he rubbed at his chest with his free hand; unwittingly and unaware of it, Aragorn appeared at that moment just like Legolas did when the Elf pushed at his chest to fend off the pangs of grief that assailed him.

_I wish I could let him sleep, but he needs to eat even if he is too tired to bathe._

So thin did Legolas’ skin appear and so little fat covered his frame that Estel did not hesitate a moment longer. He sat on the end of the bed nearest to the Elf’s head and firmly shook the laegel’s shoulder. He grinned at the grunt of annoyance that Legolas gave him but did not stop. “Wake, Greenleaf. I know you’ve likely only just now fallen asleep, but your father expects you to come eat with him after you bathe. You can sleep later.”

Again, the Silvan grumbled, though this time he also swatted at Estel’s hand, which had not ceased its shaking of the Prince’s shoulder. He repeated, “Wake, Greenleaf. You are filthy and I don’t want to share a bed with you, smelling as you do.”

Half-awake and half-asleep, Legolas snorted in amusement at this teasing. The Wood-Elf opened one brilliantly blue eye to peek at the Adan, ere he squeezed them both shut tightly. “I am not sure that I want to bathe. I am tired of being wet,” the Prince told him in a gravelly voice. “Besides, I might fall asleep in the water and drown.”

It was an odd thing to hear from Legolas, who loved cleanliness and bathing, who loved the water. And yet, after being trapped in the pit of the Troll cave, where he had apparently been mired in stagnant water and who knows what foul remnants of long dead creatures; after having nearly drowned while trying to save Estel from drowning in the Bruinen; and after spending the last several days drenched from the torrential rain, it was no wonder Legolas did not now wish to get wet. He hoped this was the only reason the laegel did not wish to bathe and that it wasn’t because Aragorn was there. Days ago, the very same night of the day Mithfindl had ravaged the Silvan for a second time, Legolas had gladly bathed with the Ranger; however, Estel understood now all that happened that night had been the Elf’s goodbye. He had been willing to ignore his fear and sorrow to spend time with Estel, since he had not thought to live beyond his search for Mithfindl. Now, Legolas might not be as amenable.

“You are covered in bone dust, Greenleaf, and mud and blood,” he gently tried to persuade the Elf. “And you know that you will feel much better after a bath.”

“You are right. I wish to sleep. More than anything, I wish to sleep. But I cannot go to bed like this.” Legolas gave the Adan a small shake of his head. “I truly might fall asleep in the tub, though.”

At seeing his Elven lover’s willingness to accept and return the Ranger’s teasing good cheer, Aragorn felt the stiffness in his shoulders and neck diminish. He’d been unaware until that moment just how tense he had become in his fear from seeing the Elf asleep while filthy, for it had alarmed him to think that the perpetually kempt Prince was either so tired he didn’t care whether he bathed or not, or he’d fallen asleep without knowing he was doing so. Giving his Elven lover a bright grin, the Adan threaded his fingers through the snarls of the Prince’s hair and assured him, “Never fear, I will be right there beside you to keep your head above water. It is the least I can do after letting you nearly drown while trying to save me from drowning.”

“And honeyed cakes. You owe me honeyed cakes – don’t forget. You promised.” Legolas returned the human’s grin with a strangely carefree and mischievous one of his own. “And what do you mean you won’t sleep in the bed with me while I smell as I do? If you won’t sleep in the bed with me, I will go sleep in Kalin’s bed. He won’t mind my stench,” the Wood-Elf said with sudden, feigned glumness, though his sparkling eyes gave away his hidden humor. “Or I will go sleep in the stables. Arato has never complained that I stink.”

Indeed, Kalin would sleep on the floor if Legolas wanted the bed to himself or would share it otherwise, and Arato would go mad with joy to have his master nearby, but of course, there was no chance Estel was not sleeping in the same bed as Legolas tonight – stench or not. He might have promised Thranduil that he would try to remember to treat the Silvan as a warrior and Prince rather than a cherished prize, but Aragorn was not revoking his affection from the Elf, despite that in his besorrowed confusion, Legolas had seemed to avoid his touch over the last several hours. Aragorn stood from the bed, grabbed hold of the Wood-Elf’s arm, and pulled him into sitting. It was entirely too easy an endeavor, what with the laegel having lost weight from the wasting effects of his grieved faer.

“Up,” he demanded congenially but resolutely. “Faidnil will be here any moment with the water. Besides, you are getting the blankets dirty. Faidnil will have a fit to have to change them after less than two hours of your being home!”

With another groan, Legolas allowed himself to be pulled into sitting but stood up on his own, his arm still in Estel’s hand. The sleepy bewilderment abruptly fled from the Elf’s face, absconding with his good cheer and leaving only a worried frown. The Prince looked down to where Aragorn had hold of his arm, his brows drawing together in concentration. Without being told, the Adan knew Legolas wondered whether he ought to evade the human. It was at that moment the Ranger realized, _All these times he has pulled away from us, from me, was he trying to ensure his being treated just as Thranduil has suggested that I do? Was he trying to keep me from treating him like a fragile, friable leaf? Thranduil has so conditioned Greenleaf into trying to manage everything alone, without comfort or friends to be of aid, that even my mere touch is somehow a sign to Legolas of his perceived weakness._

Intending to speak to the Elf about this, the Ranger was interrupted by Faidnil’s appearance. Along with three Imladrian servants, Faidnil entered the room without knocking, carrying two huge buckets of steaming water, while the servants had poles upon which were hanging by their handles two buckets on either side, such that there was enough water to fill the tub twice. The servants all nodded in greeting to Estel and Legolas, but went directly into the bathing chamber without speaking. The human pulled free the clothing the Prince still held in his arms and looked it over. Despite having been crushed to Legolas’ chest, they had not become smeared with mud or blood. The human picked up the Prince’s clean clothing from the bed. He took all this with him to the bathing chamber to watch as the servants sat the buckets down near the tub. A moment later, Legolas ambled in, rubbing his face with one hand. The Imladrian servants left Legolas’ chambers with slight bows of respect to the Prince, leaving the two Silvan and Ranger alone.

“Yesterday I restocked your room with fresh towels and plenty of soap.” Faidnil asked in fatherly, familiar devotion, though as ever, the King’s steward showed nothing but deferential decorum, “Have you need of anything, Legolas?”

The Prince was already pulling off his ruined shirt. Aragorn watched Faidnil as Legolas began to undress and noted the grimace upon the elder Elf’s face at seeing his Prince’s withered torso. Unaware of the steward’s scrutiny, Legolas gave Faidnil his gratitude, telling him, “No, but thank you. If you go back to my father’s rooms, please tell him I will come to him in about an hour or so.”

“I will, my Prince,” the servant said softly, sadly, and turned to Estel expectantly. As Faidnil left, the servant gave the Ranger a pointed, pleading look. What Faidnil meant to convey, Aragorn could only guess, but he imagined that the elder Silvan wanted for Estel to help his ailing Prince in whatever way he possibly could – which was certainly the Ranger’s intent.

He began stripping off his fouled clothing. Even though Legolas was healed entirely now, when the Prince pulled off his borrowed trousers, Aragorn still found himself stealing glances at the Elf in search of injury. He found none, of course. To his chagrin, he was caught in his surveying of the Wood-Elf, who gave the human a scowl. The Ranger immediately thought to apologize, to explain that he was only ensuring the Silvan’s well-being and not being lecherous, but the false glower fell from Legolas’ face to be replaced by an impish grin. In relief, Estel beamed back at him.

“I think first we should rinse you off,” he suggested once they were both entirely nude. He nodded towards the tub, instructing, “Hop in, and sit down. After I’m done, we will plug the egress and soak for a while.”

Nodding, Legolas complied and soon sat on his heels in the tub. Using the pitcher from the washstand to dip into a bucket, Aragorn first poured warm water over the Prince’s head before he took a glass bottle of oil soap and lathered the laegel’s hair thoroughly. Although the wounds to his head were healed, a sticky mess of blood still coated Legolas’ hair and scalp, and the lather turned a frothy pink. When done, Estel used the pitcher to rinse the Wood-Elf’s head. He thought as he watched the murky runoff water circle the drain, _If Greenleaf loses any more weight, he could slide right down the drain with the dirty water._

The Ranger poured more oil soap upon a wet cloth and ran it over the entirety of the Elf’s exposed skin, from behind his ears, to between his toes, ere he rinsed Legolas again. Through all of this, the laegel sat quietly, complacently, with a contented smile upon his face and his eyes closed. With just this much done, the laegel already looked more like himself, which heartened the Ranger. He hadn’t realized how harrowing seeing the normally pristine Elf dirty had been. Now that the worst of the muck was gone, Aragorn plugged the drain and began filling the tub nearly to the brim with the remaining buckets of warm water.

Aragorn paused a moment. Sitting in the now full tub, his hair sopping wet and his eyes still closed, the Wood-Elf appeared august and ethereal. The Ranger was reminded of the first time he had shared a bath in this tub with Legolas when first they had become lovers. Upon opening his eyes to notice that the human was only standing there staring at him, Legolas held his hands out to the Ranger in invitation. At once, Estel stepped inside the tub. He had intended to keep to the opposite end, but as if he too were reminded of the first time they had bathed in this tub together, Legolas pulled Aragorn to him, inciting the man to relax his back against the Elf’s front, just as he had that morning all those months ago. Eagerly, Estel reclined against the Prince’s chest, heaving a long sigh of delighted ease.

For a while, neither spoke nor moved: they only sat. Eventually, though, Legolas took up the cloth and oil soap and began lathering the human’s body, twisting and shifting Aragorn this way and that until he had managed to soap every inch, while under his breath, the Prince hummed a tune Estel could not place. Although Legolas had been the one to claim he might fall asleep, the Ranger also found his eyes drifting shut. The Elf reached beside the tub, took up the pitcher, and paid Aragorn the same courtesy of soaping and washing his hair. Not nearly as filthy as had Legolas been, this was all the Ranger needed to be clean, but Estel was not yet done with his Wood-Elf. He roused himself from his relaxed stupor and turned in the tub to face Legolas. He again began washing the Elf’s skin, giving it an even more thorough job, ere he finished by soaping and rinsing the Prince’s head a second time to remove all the dulling bone dust from his normally glossy, blond hair. Neither spoke during all this, though Legolas continued his soft, peaceful humming.

They had already spent far too long in the tub when Estel finally finished, which caused the Silvan to grunt and say, “My father will wonder where I am if I do not get out soon.”

Aragorn snickered and stood. The human had little shame anyway, but less so around his Elven lover, who had seen, touched, and tasted nearly every bit of him – and yet, when he stood, his groin was right in front of Legolas’ face, which when he noticed, caused Aragorn to hurry to move. The Prince’s loving caresses and gentle ministrations while helping each other bathe had stirred the Adan’s ardor and his shaft was filling with a need he had no goal of sating. Nevertheless, as he began hurriedly to step out of the tub to remove the evidence of his longing from the laegel’s view, Legolas put his hand out to stop him by grabbing hold of the man’s thigh, near to his burgeoning arousal. The surprised human looked down to the Elf, who looked up at him with a lively smile.

“Greenleaf,” he began, intending to tell the Prince to let him loose, to argue against the welling lust that was intensifying in the Elf’s face.

“Quiet, Estel. Be quiet,” the laegel commanded. All at once, Legolas leant forward and took the man’s shaft in his mouth. So surprised was Aragorn by this and so overwhelmed was he by the intense sensation of his lover’s mouth upon him that the human’s knees nearly gave way under him. Only the thought of falling forward and into Legolas, and perchance injuring him, kept the human upright where he stood.

With skillful, acquainted motions, the Wood-Elf lathed the human’s shaft using his tongue, knowing just what would cause the Ranger’s arousal to summit and peak. Once his surprise ebbed, Estel thought to stop Legolas. The first time he and Legolas had consummated their love for each other, their actions had only harmed the laegel by their solidification of the mar’s hold upon the Prince’s mind. If the same occurred now – especially since the Silvan oathed that the scar’s fell voice was entirely gone – Estel could not claim ignorance and he would never forgive himself if his base desires eventuated in the scar’s return.

“Greenleaf,” he tried again, his voice reedy and whispery with the pleasure his lover’s mouth wrought, while he intertwined his fingers in the Silvan’s hair lightly to try to draw Legolas’ head away from where it was burrowed against the human’s navel.

At Aragorn’s insistent and inadvertently painful tug of his hair to urge him into stopping, the aggravated Elf did as he was impelled, but in a sudden, graceful motion, Legolas stood to face the Ranger, with both of them knee deep in the sweet smelling, warm bathwater. Legolas was not smiling but nor was he sorrowful or miserable. No, the laegel’s fair, thin face was determined and his eyes sparkled in salacious prurience.

“Don’t,” the Wood-Elf advised the Ranger before he had the chance to express his concerns over the laegel’s actions. “If you do not wish for me to pleasure you, as I wish to do, then say so, but do not tell me to stop because you think I cannot choose for myself whether I wish to please you, Estel, or because you think me too childish to know what is good for me. I want this.”

Feeling as if Legolas were reading his thoughts, Estel looked down towards the bathwater rather than face the irritated Elf. In doing so, he saw clearly how the Silvan’s long, sleek shaft stood proudly, turgidly, and evinced the Elf’s desire. Aragorn wanted Legolas, to be certain. He would always desire Legolas. The only reason he had stopped the Elf was for the very reason Legolas claimed – he feared to aggravate the laegel’s grief and had immediately doubted whether Legolas was capable of choosing what was best for him. Less than an hour after hearing Faidnil’s story, he was not heeding the Silvan servant’s counsel.

 _If he desires this and I desire him, who am I to stop him?_ the human considered.

Before he realized what he was doing, Aragorn’s palm skimmed over the Elf’s hip. As if he were a passive observer, Estel viewed his own strong, tanned hand slide along the smooth flesh of Legolas’ navel, sweep over the soft, dark blond hair surrounding the Prince’s shaft, and then, he had his lover’s cock in his grip. Indeed, Aragorn did not truly comprehend what he was doing until he heard the Wood-Elf gasp. Aragorn raised his gaze to Legolas’ face, expecting the worst, expecting the Silvan to be upset or hesitant, despite that he had been the one to begin this. He caught only a glimpse of his lover’s enraptured features because the moment Estel’s head was lifted, the Elf cleared the space between them to capture the man’s mouth with his own.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was not a playful kiss. As if famished for Estel rather than for food, Legolas nipped and bit at the human’s lips until Aragorn opened them, and then with his lithe tongue, the Prince plundered Aragorn’s mouth thoroughly. The laegel slipped his arm between them, taking Estel’s shaft in hand while the Ranger still held onto Legolas’ arousal. Try though the human did to breathe through his nose, his chest began to burn with need of air; and yet, he did not pull back, so riveted was he in the sweet taste of Legolas’ mouth, with the tightening grip of the Prince’s fingers around his now firm shaft. When at last the Elf released the Adan’s mouth and he took a much-needed deep breath, Aragorn’s mind reeled with the sudden rush of air.

For a third time, the human said, “Greenleaf,” though this time he did not try to stop the Prince but suggested, “Let us get out of this tub before one of us falls and breaks a neck.”

Legolas was the first to step out of the cooling water. He did not release Estel’s shaft, though when he stepped away, Aragorn was forced to release the Elf’s cock. He placed a hand on the Prince’s shoulder to steady himself as he followed suit in leaving the tub. The moment his feet were on the dry floor, Legolas dropped to his knees before the Ranger and took Estel’s shaft in his mouth once more. It had been only a little over a fortnight since last the two had lain together, but the Adan soon found himself on the verge of release from Legolas’ adroit handling and his own fervidness to have the Wood-Elf. The Prince was aware of his lover’s looming climax. Unwilling to let the Adan spend his seed anywhere but inside him, Legolas grabbed the bottle of soap oil from the floor beside him, stood, pressed it into the man’s hand, and then shifted until their bodies were crushed together, their nude, bathwater slicked skin sliding against the other’s flesh. They had no rapeseed oil, which is what they typically used to ease the man’s entrance into the Elf’s body, but Aragorn thought the soap oil would work fine.

“I want you, Estel. I want to feel you inside me, as deeply as you can reach,” the Elf encouraged. Legolas lapped at the underside of the human’s jawline, biting and then laving random spots along Aragorn’s whiskered throat. “I want you to fill me.”

Impatient to do just as Legolas desired, Estel fell to his own knees before the Wood-Elf, though he ignored the laegel’s dripping shaft and instead yanked at Legolas hips to turn him around so his rear was before the Adan. Placing his hands upon the table in front of him, Legolas bent at the waist slightly and spread his legs to give Aragorn access to his clandestine flesh. Scrubbed clean and smelling of bergamot, the Silvan bore no marks of his recent torment such that in that moment, Estel found it easy to push from his mind the last lingering doubts he held over what they would do. He wasted no time in slathering the soap oil on his fingers and between the shapely halves of Legolas’ arse. Already, even before Estel had the first of his digits inside the Elf, the Prince was pressing back as if his body were seeking out the man’s fingers with which to fill his breach.

The Ranger had no more than the tip of one finger inside his lover ere Legolas pushed back upon it. Almost at once, the Wood-Elf pulled away and then pushed back again. The Silvan’s body was opening to the Ranger like a blooming flower. Without removing the first finger, the human added a second equally lathered digit, and again, Legolas began to ride Estel’s probing fingers in eager anticipation of for what they were preparing him.

“Enough, Estel. Fill me,” the laegel complained, standing up and thus removing the human’s fingers from inside him.

The Wood-Elf settled his rear upon the table, propped himself with his hands behind him while he leant back, and then lifted his legs, spreading them wide open with his heels upon the very edge of the table. The shameless display had Estel striding forward to do as he’d been asked. He slathered his shaft in the soap oil and carelessly dropped the glass bottle to the ground, where it luckily remained intact, though its contents began to spread out over the stone tiles. Between the Elf’s legs, one hand holding his shaft and the other reaching out for the Prince’s leaking arousal, Estel entered the eager laegel in a single, shallow thrust. While he tried to wait a moment, to let Legolas become accustomed to this sensation, as he normally would do, the primed Wood-Elf would not have it. Legolas wrapped his legs around the human’s middle and drew him closer.

“Deeper. As deeply as you can reach,” the Elf reminded him with a lascivious frown of dissatisfaction.

Pitching his pelvis forward, with the help of the soap oil and Legolas’ readiness, Aragorn’s shaft slid easily into the Prince, but each time he pitched forward, the laegel would slam his hips down harder. In response and growing unable to withstand the Wood-Elf’s increasing impatience, Aragorn began to match the Silvan’s frantic pace. When the table began to scoot along the floor, jolting off a couple of ceramic containers of bath salts and causing them to shatter upon the tiles, Aragorn grabbed hold of Legolas’ arms from off the table, where they supported the Elf’s weight, compelled the Elf into wrapping them about the human’s neck, and once the grousing Elf had done this, Estel slipped his arms under Legolas’ thighs and lifted him up. Carrying the Prince in this way, he did not even think to take the laegel to the bed in the next room, but stumbled forward the few steps it took to get to the closest steady surface. With a thud, the Silvan’s back hit the wall. So light was the Elf and so strong was Estel that he had no trouble at all in keeping the Prince aloft, with Legolas pressed between the unforgiving, cold stones of the wall and Estel’s solid, warm body.

The Adan could feel each of the laegel’s fingers as they dug into the flesh of the Ranger’s upper back for grip; however, Aragorn’s arms were strong and he did not fear dropping the Prince. He flattened his palms against the wall with the back of Legolas’ knees hooked over the Adan’s forearms, the Elf’s legs spread wide and his movement restricted, which kept the Elf unable to participate much but only to accept each of Aragorn’s unfaltering, forcefully piercing thrusts upwards. The man’s shaft penetrated the Elf’s body in a steady, firm cadence. Taller than Estel because of his being held aloft, Legolas’ head was bowed, his forehead resting against the top of the human’s head. Upon his face, Aragorn could feel the Silvan’s panting, hot breaths that he exhaled between frenzied gasps and grumbling mewls of gratification.

“Estel, please,” the Silvan sibilated insistently as Estel shifted his stance, his cock now stimulating more aptly the receptive swell within the Prince’s body.

As Legolas neared his own peak, his body tensed rhythmically, his breach clenching and relaxing around Aragorn’s shaft, which was enough to undo the Ranger entirely. In a final, vigorous thrust upwards that caused the Wood-Elf’s body to jounce violently and his back to slide up along the wall only to fall roughly back upon the human’s forearms – and thus causing Aragorn’s thick, rigid cock to plunge ever deeper into the Silvan’s concomitantly yielding and then embracing opening – Estel could contain himself no longer and spilled his seed inside Legolas. His hips moved of their own accord, jerking to derive from the Elf every frisson of ecstasy his lover’s tightly sheathing flesh could wring from him. His arms shaking and his legs trembling from the ferocity of his release, Estel moved forward so his entire torso pressed against the Elf, which helped him to hold up the laegel from the ground without Legolas’ weight resting entirely upon Aragorn’s forearms. Perspiration poured from both of their bodies; in absentminded appreciation of the gratification his lover had brought him, Estel licked at the drops of bathwater mixed with salty sweat that ran along the Prince’s neck.

Normally, because of the Ranger’s diligence to ensure that his lover was enjoying himself, Legolas found his completion before Estel; if nothing else, Legolas found it at the same time, for nothing aroused the Elf more than having the human’s searing seed fill him. However, the Prince was not relieved yet. He writhed and wriggled upon Estel’s slowly softening shaft, groaning and grunting as he sought to continue his pleasure. Pressed tightly between his own belly and the human’s torso, Legolas’ unsatisfied arousal wept seed that Aragorn could feel as it smeared agreeably between their bodies. He released the Wood-Elf’s legs, his shaft slipping from Legolas’ body, and the Prince was upon his feet once again. Grunting in disappointment that he would not find his climax with Aragorn inside him, the Prince nonetheless gave the Adan the leeway to finish their play.

Estel began with the Elf’s gracefully pointed ear, which he took in his mouth and suckled the tip of lewdly, while his hands slid behind the Prince to grab tightly the Silvan's rear. Quickly, he paid the other of the winded Elf’s ears the same attention, ere he lapped along where the Wood-Elf’s jaw met his neck, and then trailed with his tongue down the laegel’s throat, to where his rapidly beating heart fluttered beneath the pale, thin flesh of the middle of his neck just above his collarbone. Ever downward he moved, making sweeping arcs across the Prince’s chest from one coral colored peak upon his chest to the other. Legolas snagged the Ranger’s hair in his hands to wrench with each tremor of pleasure and then to stroke in encouragement.

Lower he went. Aragorn drew a line with his tongue between the sculpted if too thin halves of the Elf’s chest and then his stomach, slipping his tongue playfully into the Prince’s belly button, before he followed the light trial of fine hair that began just above the Wood-Elf’s shaft. Legolas was bent at the waist to watch what the Ranger did and his fingers were twisted into Estel’s hair in a painful hold, though the Ranger did not complain. He began kneading the Silvan’s arse while with his lips he tugged at the sacs under the Prince’s shaft, which were heavy with need.

And then, just as he took the head of the Silvan’s cock into his mouth, Aragorn slid two fingers between the cleft of the Elf’s rear, seeking the now well-relaxed entrance located between, and once he found it, he began suckling lewdly the Prince’s shaft in fervid earnestness even while he slipped those two digits inside Legolas’ slippery breach. He could tell from the way the Prince twitched his hips that the Silvan was trying not to thrust forward into the Ranger’s mouth; however, Estel would have him do just that. By pressing with his fingers inside the Elf’s opening, he pushed Legolas’ lower body forward and thus the Silvan’s shaft deeper down the Ranger’s gullet. The growl the Prince let loose was part Dwarven curse and part howl, by the sounds of it, and Legolas needed no more inspiration. In vigorous but short jolts of his hips, the laegel took to driving his cock in and out of the man’s willing mouth – with each thrust back and forth into the man’s orifice, Legolas also impaled himself upon Aragorn’s long fingers, which were still lodged inside him.

It took only a few minutes before the stimulation became too much for Legolas. In long spurts, the Elf’s seed spilled into the human’s mouth; hungrily, Estel swallowed every drop of this evidence of the pleasure he brought his lover. He pulled free his fingers from the Prince’s opening so he could catch hold of the Elf’s waist when it seemed the laegel would collapse forward. Just as had the human, Legolas’ body moved of its own accord at his peak, his shaft and groin twitching to wring from him the last drop of seed. Just as had the human, the Elf could no longer seem to support his own weight – Legolas’ legs buckled under him and he slid down the wall. With Aragorn between his legs already, the Wood-Elf ended up sitting upon the human’s knees. Estel wrapped his arms around his lover to pull him tight to him. In return, Legolas’ arms glided their way around the Adan’s neck such that the two lovers were once again pressed together as firmly as they could be, their bath damp and now sweat slicked bodies feverishly hot from the efforts of their pleasure, and both of them gasping for air.

Legolas’ face was burrowed in the crook of Estel’s neck. For one brief, horrifying moment, the Ranger thought he felt tears falling against his collarbone. He pulled back and out of the Wood-Elf’s embrace to look at the Silvan’s face. Instead of tears, however, Estel saw Legolas’ face was lax in contentment and it had been sweat or water that had dropped onto the man’s chest. He grinned at the stuporous Wood-Elf.

“I think we might need to bathe again,” the human suggested, thinking to himself, _Because if we go to your father’s rooms to eat smelling of sex, he will tear my head from my shoulders for endangering the healing of your faer._ Not even the thought of Thranduil could dampen the Ranger’s satisfaction, though he did not want to chance ruining Legolas’ gratification over it.

Groaning, the Prince once more let his head fall forwards and onto Estel’s shoulder. He told the human, “I think I am too tired to bathe, much less to stand, and even less to walk.”

Aragorn slithered away from the Prince but only long enough to slide one arm under his knees and another behind his back. Before Legolas could protest, he lifted and carried the Elf back to the tub, in which he tried to sit the Prince gradually. However, his own muscles felt to be like saplings bending under a storm’s breeze, and instead of gracefully lowering the laegel into the tub, he ended up dropping Legolas just above the surface. With a yelp of surprise, the Prince plummeted down while splashing water up over the edge of the tub, drenching Aragorn in a curtain of now cold bathwater. Sputtering and coughing, the laegel sat up quickly to stare at the human in disorientation.

“Greenleaf,” the Ranger began to apologize, though he realized his apology wouldn’t mean much, since he was now snickering and could not stop. “Greenleaf, I’m sorry.”

 _This is what I must have looked when winter ended, when Legolas pushed me into the pool of water in Mirkwood,_ the Ranger mused at the drenched Wood-Elf, who shook his head violently, as if he were a waterlogged dog, which caused drops of water to fly about the room. Although he didn’t acknowledge the Ranger’s apology, Legolas laughed right along with the human.

Aragorn stepped back inside the bath long enough to rinse the seed and soap oil from off him ere he aided the still grinning and once more clean Wood-Elf into sitting upon the edge of the tub. He left Legolas there while he found a towel to wrap around the laegel’s hair. As he snagged the end of one from the floor, where everything upon the table was now strewn, he saw the Prince’s robe amidst the towels and grabbed it, as well. They had made a fine mess of the room, for bath salts and soap oil covered the floor, along with shards of pottery and every clean towel that had sat upon the table.

Turning back to the strangely quiet Wood-Elf, Aragorn saw that in his utmost exhaustion, the sated, clean, amused, and much more sanguine Prince had his eyes closed while his whole body was tranquil. In fact, Legolas looked as if he might fall asleep where he sat. And so, playfully, the Ranger threw the laegel’s robe at him, hitting Legolas in the face with it, which caused the Wood-Elf to startle, his eyes to fly open, and his laugh to ring out merrily in surprise at the human’s mischievousness.

“Watch yourself, Estel. You’ve tried to drown me and now you are throwing things?” The Silvan warned the Ranger, “Don’t forget – Kalin lives across the hall. All I need to do is call out and he will shamble over here to thrash you.”

 _Oh my, I had thought nothing of Kalin. I wonder if he has heard us,_ the Ranger pondered uncomfortably, though once again, he did not bring this up to Legolas out of concern he might worry the Prince. It was not that the human was ashamed of the pleasure he had just experienced with the Silvan, but he was not so sure Kalin might not take him to task for risking Legolas’ recently abused body and tortured faer. Unwilling to lose his good mood with these thoughts, the nude Ranger wrapped the towel around Legolas’ head, twisted his hair within it, and then aided the fatigued Elf into his robe. Already, the Silvan’s eyes were sliding shut again.

“Stay awake, Greenleaf,” he warned the Elf as he hauled him to his feet. “Your father expects you to be in his rooms for a very late dinner.”

Legolas mumbled something in response. The Ranger’s arm threaded through his, the robed laegel shuffled his way with the naked human into the other room. Once close enough to the bed, the Silvan pulled his arm free and dropped down onto the mattress; it took only a moment before Legolas had curled onto his side in a tight ball and then closed his eyes. He decided to let the Prince be for the moment and returned to the bathing chamber to find their clothing. He had intended right after bathing to get the Elf dressed in the clothing Faidnil had brought, but the Wood-Elf had held other ideas, and at the moment, Legolas was too exhausted. It hadn’t helped that Aragorn had facilitated Legolas in expending the last of his energy in their efforts to please each other. Now, the Prince was in the bed passed out from fatigue and still not dressed.

He went back into the bathing chambers, grabbed a towel for himself, and dried off quickly. Rushing so he would not let the Prince fall into too deep a sleep before having to wake him, the human pulled on his own clothing before collecting the Wood-Elf’s borrowed clothing, and then doused the candelabrum and hurried back into the bedchambers.

“Greenleaf?” he inquired as he walked through the open doorway separating the two rooms.

There was no response. Aragorn padded quietly to the opposite side of the bed so he could see the Wood-Elf. His delicately thin eyelids hiding his bright blue eyes, Legolas breathed evenly, with his body in utter repose and his face clear of all concerns and worries. Seen through the open folds of the Elf’s robe and pinkly opaline from the good scrubbing they had both just given themselves and each other, Legolas’ skin was finally clean of the bone dust and other debris that had glued itself to his body. From where it was falling out of the towel wrapped around his head, the Elf’s blond tresses hung in cords around his face, having been untangled during their bath though they were soon to be snarled again, since Legolas had not stayed awake long enough to braid his hair.

 _He is shattered._ The Ranger scanned the Elf’s body leisurely with his eyes, judging how many more meals Legolas could miss before he literally starved to death. Everywhere, the Prince was angular, his alabaster flesh strung too tight over his too visible skeleton. He had felt for himself how the Prince’s ribs stuck out from beneath the flesh of his chest, how his belly was too concave, and how the laegel’s hips were too prominent, as were his cheekbones. _He needs to eat but I haven’t the heart to wake him._ As he gazed down upon his lover, the Ranger placed his hand upon Legolas’ shoulder.

“Are we going to your father’s rooms?” he asked the laegel in a near whisper, shaking the Silvan’s shoulder lightly to try to rouse him – but not too hard, as he was willing to let the Elf sleep, thinking he would see that Legolas ate first thing tomorrow morning, if not now.

Once again, Legolas mumbled something indecipherable to the Adan in response and didn’t open his eyes. Aragorn couldn’t distinguish what the Elf said, but when the slumbering laegel grabbed Estel’s hand from off his shoulder and pulled the human’s forearm to his chest, where he hugged it against him, Aragorn knew the Prince’s answer.

Somehow, despite having said nothing of import, the Elf and Ranger had managed to clear the stagnancy between them. Despite his worry that Legolas would continue to shun his touch, the Elf had sought it out to the point of their having shared their bodies. Aragorn was too satiated by their loving play, too happy to have enjoyed their bath and the intimacy of it, and too hopeful that Legolas might truly heal for him to dwell on his ruined plans to speak to the Elf. He even forgot about his incessant desire to speak to his father of the imminent destruction of the periapts and what potentially dire effect they might have upon the Prince.

Tomorrow there would be time aplenty for fears.


	31. Chapter 31

Aragorn watched the Elf sleep for several minutes, his arm still held tightly by Legolas’ arms to the Silvan’s chest. His kiss-bruised lips slightly opened, his eyes fluttering around behind his lids as he dreamt, and his breathing soft and low, the laegel looked as serene as the Ranger had ever seen him and certainly more peaceful than Estel might have expected – considering all through which Legolas had survived over the past fortnight or so. The Ranger still dithered as to whether to waken the Elf. The Prince’s robes were parted over his chest such that there was nothing between the human’s forearm and the laegel’s exposed torso, which let Estel feel every conspicuous bone of Legolas’ ribcage. The part of him trained in the art of healing balked at the thought of allowing the laegel to go another moment without food.

 _If I don’t wake him, Ada will have my hide. Greenleaf promised his Minyatar he would eat tonight._ It wasn’t Aragorn’s place to ensure that Legolas kept his promises, of course, though the Ranger predicted that when Elrond found out about it, his foster father would hold the human accountable anyway for letting the Silvan sleep rather than eat. For months already, the Adan had kept his eye upon the grieving Wood-Elf, ensuring his well-being. Part of this was ascertaining Legolas ate properly, for during the nadir of his sorrow, the Prince often forgot or did not feel like eating, though he had never starved himself intentionally. It was difficult for the Ranger not to want to decide for the Elf that he ought to eat before sleeping, and it was only tonight, after speaking with Thranduil and Faidnil, that Estel realized how controlling he had been, even if he had done it simply out of love for the Prince. Aragorn could only conclude there was something about Legolas that made those who loved him want to take care of him, as if the Wood-Elf were in need of constant tending, when undoubtedly the Silvan Prince did not and could well take care of himself. As he watched Legolas’ lips twitch into a momentary flicker of a smile from the apparently pleasant dream he was enjoying, Estel added to himself, _Greenleaf promised his own Ada he would eat, as well. Perhaps Thranduil will deem that waking Thranduilion is wise. Thranduil has more of a claim to make these choices for Legolas than I have,_ he admitted to himself, though it did not thrill him to do so.

Estel shifted his rear upon the mattress so his arm – which was twisted oddly due to how Legolas held it to his chest – was relieved of its awkward position. Only the oil lamp upon the mantel was lit; the wick was hissing and sputtering and needed a good trimming, but the lambent light illumined the Elf’s features such that in some hazy, vague part of his mind, Estel felt soothed. With a single finger of his free hand, Estel traced the Prince’s brows, smoothing out the dark curves. Like his father, Legolas’ eyebrows were a deep amber that was nearly black, while every other hair upon the Wood-Elf’s body was as fair as was the buttery blond shock upon his head, though the small thatch surrounding his shaft was of a darker shade. With a light touch, the Adan then traced the Silvan’s high cheekbones. When Estel’s fingers trailed from the lobe to the tip of one of the Prince’s elegantly pointed ears, a frisson ran over the Elf – whether in ticklishness or pleasure, Estel did not know, but he removed his hand to avoid waking his lover with his absentminded caresses. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed, and without realizing what he was doing and despite having just decided to stop touching Legolas lest he rouse him, Aragorn began again, this time stroking the Prince’s cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Ever so slightly, Legolas turned into this nimble touch and pressed his face against Aragorn’s hand, while his tight grip upon the Adan’s arm became fervent.

 _I know he is tired, but surely, he is hungry, as well._ With loving devotion, the still irresolute Adan refused to move so as not to wake the Elf. Sighing as he recalled that Thranduil expected his son to join him for a very late dinner, Aragorn told himself, _Greenleaf told Faidnil to relate to his father that he would come to him in an hour – that has been well over an hour ago. Faidnil will likely come searching for Legolas. Perhaps I ought to go tell Thranduil that Greenleaf will not be coming._ The Adan and Elf-King had established a precarious concord between them that Aragorn did not want to see collapse over something so simple as a lack of manners.

As if his thinking of the Elvenking were a presagement, a knock at the door pulled Aragorn from his deliberation. With reluctance to lose contact with his lover, the human delicately slid his arm out from the Silvan’s embrace. However, he hurried to get to the door so whoever was knocking would not wake the laegel just yet. Fortuitously, the Prince did not so much as twitch at the loud banging and Estel made it to the door before their visitor began again. Fully expecting to find Faidnil outside to fetch his Prince, as he had anticipated might happen, the Adan cracked the door open enough to speak through it. Much to his surprise, Thranduil himself had come to procure Thranduilion.

“Where is Legolas?” the King asked, his booming voice resounding too loudly in the quietude of the laegel’s bedchambers.

Thranduil had changed from his riding clothes and into a finely made robe that likely cost more than all of Estel’s clothing together – a fact evinced by the gold threading adorning the front of the robe in the shapes of blooming dogwood limbs, the flowers of which were outlined in obsidian beads and filled in with miniscule, rounded rubies, while the fabric itself was of a pale green silk. Dressed in his well-worn and frayed trousers and plain linen shirt, the human felt he looked like a beggar or a pauper in comparison.

Thranduil tried to peer around the Ranger, to look for his son, with a suspicious glower upon his face that only grew when Aragorn did not open the door wider to let the King inside the room. Sounding irritated to have been kept waiting, the Elvenking also appeared nervous when he inquired, “He has finished bathing, hasn’t he? Legolas is well?”

“He is well, yes, but he is sound asleep,” he clarified to the Elvenking in a whisper. The Ranger looked behind him to the bed, where Legolas had not shifted a bit, and then turned back to Thranduil. “He stayed awake only long enough to bathe. He is so exhausted and so peaceful did he look when he fell into slumber that I did not want to wake him.”

Again, Thranduil tried to look around the Ranger and into the room, and while Aragorn was not intentionally blocking the King’s view, he did not want the brightness of the corridor to shine on the Prince’s face. The corridor was well lit in comparison to Legolas’ bedchambers, for in sconces placed frequently along the walls sat brilliantly burning oil lamps. The King’s lips pressed into a thoughtful grimace, while his dark brows – so similar to Legolas’ – drew together into the sovereign’s customary frown when Estel did not relent nor move from the way. The King asked in rapid, apprehensive, and quiet procession, “When last did he eat, Estel? Can he go the night without eating?”

Finally, Aragorn slid the door open a bit more but only enough so that he could slide himself through it. He waited until he pulled the door to behind him before answering, “According to the story Kalin told me when I found him in the woods, he and Legolas halved a small rabbit Kalin felled. Before then, he had eaten only some berries. His last good meal was the night before he left Imladris with Kalin. So, by my reckoning, it has been about four days since Greenleaf ate a proper meal.”

“Then I am waking him,” the King said decisively, his hand snaking around the man’s body and grabbing for the door handle to slip past Aragorn. “He can sleep afterwards. He need not be awake for long – only long enough to put something in his belly.”

Estel did not try to stop Thranduil from entering, as the Elvenking would not be dissuaded, and so stepped out of Thranduil’s way to allow him entrance. Fortunately, the King thoughtfully remained quiet as he pushed the door open and entered the laegel’s bedchambers. Aragorn followed a step behind, thinking to influence the King’s decision and let the laegel sleep. Thranduil strode directly to the bed with his arms crossed over his chest to note that his son was dressed only in a robe that displayed his currently spindly looking, long legs, which had once been dense with muscle. His gaze lingered over the Prince’s torso, which had always been sinewy but never as lean as it was now. The irritation upon Thranduil’s face began to soften the longer he stood there watching his son sleep, until he was gazing upon the Prince with a strange perfervidity.

Indeed, the King took the last few steps to be directly beside the bed, lowered himself down to sit on the edge of the mattress, and then reached out to slide his hand beneath the Prince’s face, his palm cupping the younger Elda’s jaw. To the Elvenking in that moment, Estel might as well not have been in the room. All of Thranduil’s focus was upon his son. As he had only minutes earlier, when Aragorn had held the Prince’s cheek in a similar way, Legolas settled his face more firmly into his Ada’s hand, as if the King’s hold were now his pillow. Enthralled to see Thranduil appear so fatherly and so devoted, Estel quite forgot his intention of convincing the King not to wake Legolas.

 _How many times has that very hand struck Greenleaf’s face in anger rather than touch it with love, as it does now?_ the human wondered of Thranduil.

As had Estel earlier, Thranduil used his thumb to trace the young Elda’s face, feeling for himself the meager flesh covering the laegel’s cheekbone. With the same indecisive vexation Estel felt, the King wordlessly looked to Aragorn as if seeking convincing that the Prince could possibly wait another moment to be fed. Again, he didn’t want to argue with Thranduil – not after he and the King had only just found some common ground between them – but he wanted the laegel to sleep since the Elf evidently desired this more than dinner.

“Waiting until morning will not harm him, for the night is almost over, anyway. When dawn comes, he will eat, I promise you,” the Ranger said as softly as he could. “Let him rest for a few hours more. Please,” he added in afterthought.

Recalcitrantly, the King slid his hand out from under the laegel’s face, rose from the bed, and then nodded, begrudgingly trusting the Ranger’s skills as a healer to judge this matter. Thranduil matched Estel’s whist tone when he offered, “I have not yet sent Faidnil to find my supper. Join me, if you wish. Legolas will be fine by himself.”

Having just promised the King that he would try to stop coddling the Prince, Aragorn quickly searched for an excuse not to go with Thranduil without insulting the King but also not giving away that he merely did not want to leave Legolas. “Thank you,” he said as he walked to the door, glad the King followed, “but I think I will sleep, as well.”

The Elf-King smiled knowingly at the Ranger while he pulled the door open, though he did not question Estel’s excuse. Before he walked through the entryway, however, the King suddenly stopped and raised his nose to the air to sniff. Forthwith, the human worried that somehow the King’s keen Elven nose could pick out the scent of his and Legolas’ lovemaking. The Ranger’s face blanched before a flush began to creep up his neck. The last thing the Adan wished to do this night was debate with Thranduil about Aragorn having enjoyed Legolas’ body. His only saving grace was that the Prince had begun with their carnal play, but Estel could not fathom telling Thranduil this to win the quarrel.

“How much soap did you two require to get clean?” the King inquired in amused confusion, continuing out the door with the human a step behind him. “It smells as if you forgot to use water.”

Aragorn admitted with a relieved chuckle, pulling the door shut behind him until he and the King finished speaking and he could go back in to the Prince, “By accident, I hit the table, knocking off and breaking several jars of bath salts.”

The King gave the Ranger another shrewd smile, causing the human to think that perhaps Thranduil knew what his son and his son’s human lover had been up to after all. If he did, the King did not rail at Estel, as the Adan expected. Instead, the Elvenking offered congenially, “Goodnight then, Estel. I will not be asleep, so if you or Legolas have need of me, I will be in my chambers.”

Aragorn nodded to the Sinda but already Thranduil was walking down the corridor. Before he even had the knob to the Elf’s rooms in hand, however, the King turned on heel and strode back to the human, who waited patiently to find out what more Thranduil might say. The Sinda appeared almost apologetic as he told the Ranger, “I had planned to speak to Legolas of this tonight while eating, and you, as well, should you have come with him, but I will tell you now – I intend to leave the valley the day after tomorrow.”

Estel could not have been more surprised had Thranduil told him he intended to abdicate his throne and become a fisherman. _I never thought the King would leave the Prince while Legolas still grieves. Perhaps it is too much for him to see Greenleaf’s sorrow, or perhaps he thinks he will only hinder Legolas’ recovery._ Furthermore, the reeling Ranger’s mind wondered how the Prince would react to this news.

But Thranduil was not yet done. Hesitantly, the King placed a long fingered, light hand upon the human’s shoulder as he told him, “I will be taking Legolas with me.”

“You can’t,” the Adan argued weakly at once, for in his surprise, he could think of nothing else to say. The human pushed at the damp hair that hung in his face and then drew a hand down over his whiskered cheeks, his mouth slightly agape in confusion.

“I can, Estel, and I will,” he immediately responded to the human in irritation to have his actions questioned. Thranduil withdrew his hand but not his remorsefulness to be telling the Ranger this. The King first folded his arms across his chest, as he often did when on the cusp of making one of his Kingly demands, but then his limbs slid down over his torso, where he clasped his hands at his waist. “Earlier, when your father and I walked alone for a few moments in the woods, right after you had accused me of blaming Legolas for all that has occurred, I told Elrond I would be taking my son home. Although he told me it pained him to have Legolas leave while his faer was still broken, he did not argue against me. Even your father sees the wisdom in this.”

The King said this as if having Elrond’s blessing would instantly clear all worries the human held for this plan. Aragorn was not allowed to enter the Mirkwood forests any longer, by the King’s edict. This had not mattered a whit to Estel while Legolas was here in the valley, but once the laegel was in Eryn Galen, the Ranger would not have access to his lover. This meant he would be entrusting Legolas’ welfare in the King’s hands, which until recently, would have frightened the Adan immeasurably because he feared Thranduil’s violence and castigation for the grieving Prince. Even now, with the King’s promise to Estel to keep his temper in check, the Ranger could not imagine how Legolas would ever survive long enough even to see Thranduil’s halls.

 _Kalin will be there,_ he tried to assuage his mounting horror. _Kalin will protect his Prince._

It was little comfort he offered himself, for above all else, Estel wanted to be with Legolas.

When Estel said nothing, but stared aghast, every argument against their going the human could conceive running through his mind, the King continued, “Do not worry for him. I will keep my pledge to you, Estel. I will show him the kindness I ought to have been showing him. Do not fret.”

Normally, Thranduil would not deign to explain himself to the Ranger – or many people, in fact, for he was accustomed to having his orders followed without question. Now, though, the King wanted the human’s complicity in this. He wanted Estel to see the wisdom in taking Legolas home because he wanted the Ranger to give his blessing, rather than try to talk the Prince into defying his father. Again, Thranduil placed his hand upon the human’s shoulder as balm for the cuttingly forthright explanation he would give. “Listen: Legolas has killed one of the Imladrians. There will be questions, there will be blame, and there will be distrust of him. Perhaps this will pass, but perhaps it will not, though in the meantime, I would not have him suffer through it. The Last Homely House has always been another home to him and Elrond and his sons the family that I took no care to provide as I should have, but now, he should be in his own home, amongst his own people, and with his father. Moreover,” the King added, “I need to return home. I have tarried too long here in the valley. And I am not leaving without my son – not when I do not know if I might see him again, should his grief overwhelm him. You understand this, don’t you?” he asked the human.

Aragorn nodded. He understood clearly. He also believed Thranduil when he told the human that he wanted Legolas to return home for the Prince’s own good, but also because he was not ready to part from his son. Idly, the Ranger rubbed at his nervously moiling belly through his thin shirt. “I do understand, yes,” he admitted to the King, though he added, “but I am no more ready to part from him for some indeterminate amount of time, not knowing if I may see him again, either.”

It was now the King’s turn to look surprised. Both of his dark eyebrows lifting high onto his smooth forehead, Thranduil asked, “Why would you remain parted from him?”

More confused than before, the Ranger reminded Thranduil, “By your command, I am banished from the Greenwood.”

Clearly, Thranduil had forgotten about this or considered it moot by now. He lifted his hand away from Aragorn’s shoulder and flitted his fingers as if shooing a pesky mayfly. “I never considered that you would not come to Mirkwood in time, if not accompany us upon our departure.”

Forgetting himself, for he would never have grabbed the King’s arm so familiarly under normal circumstances, Aragorn seized Thranduil’s forearm to ask, “You would let me come with you?”

“Of course, as long as Legolas desires it. I have said before but I will repeat to you now – I no longer intend to stand between the two of you, Estel. If he has chosen a male mortal as his mate, then I suppose that I can only accept it. Besides,” Thranduil told him, tugging his arm free of the Adan’s hold and then giving Estel a wry smile as he turned away to leave, “do not lie by telling me you would not have followed us regardless.”

Thranduil did not wait for a response. By the time Estel thought to thank him for rescinding his banishment of the Ranger, Thranduil was already around the far corner and into the hallway in which his guest chambers laid. The human’s mind raced with the implications of the Elvenking’s plans. _Back to Mirkwood._ In truth, Estel had never thought to be welcomed back into the tainted Greenwood. A niggling worry threatened to diminish his good mood. In the great forest realm, Thranduil would once more be the ultimate decider of Legolas’ fate, of his actions and care, and would once again have the ability to bend Estel to his will by right of being able to force the Ranger from Eryn Galen should he disagree. _But there is no question that I will go with them,_ he told himself conclusively. He did not even consider whether his Greenleaf would want him to go, as Thranduil had suggested by saying ‘as long as Legolas desires it.’

He stood there in the corridor for several long minutes until the door across the way opened. From behind the portal, Kalin peered out, startling Estel from his contemplation when he stated, “You have won him over. That is no easy feat for anyone, much less a mortal.”

The human had not intended to see Kalin tonight because he had thought the Elf would be resting after his Prince’s middle of the night visit, but upon seeing him now, the Ranger ambled forward, for he was still wary of waking Legolas and did not want to continue talking in the hall. When he approached the ajar door, Kalin moved back to allow the human within, and then shambled to his bed – which had been Estel’s bed until the past few days. He stepped within the room and shut the door behind him, while saying, “I am not certain of that… that I have won him over, I mean. I think he only accepts me because he fears what might happen to Greenleaf if he does not.”

“Then he loves my Prince enough to take in a human for his son’s consort. Perhaps that says even more of him, and of you, than if you had won him over with your sterling personality,” the sentry teased with a flippant, happy grin. Plainly, Kalin was pleased. Not only was Thranduil taking the Silvan sentries and servants home, but they were taking Legolas with them, and likely Estel, as well.

Aragorn would need to think of this more; he was glad he had a full day in which to do it before the royal retinue’s departure, as well, for he would need to speak to his father. Already, Estel was ignoring his own duties as a Ranger. He was Chieftain, after all, and though the motley lot of seasoned Rangers needed little active leadership, he had taken a vow to protect the Free Peoples of Eriador. Still, Halbarad kept constant contact with their fellow Rangers through contacts in Bree, and should he be needed, Halbarad or any of the others would know to look for their Chieftain in the vale of Imladris, should Halbarad himself not be able to judge the best course of action in the situation. If Estel went to Mirkwood, a raven could be sent from Rivendell to Thranduil’s halls, anyway, bringing with it word for aid. Other than his duties as a Ranger, all he cared about and all those whom he cared for could currently be found right here in the valley; and so, while he would be disregarding for a while longer his self-imposed commitments as a Watcher, Aragorn knew his presence in the wilds was not essential for now.

 _There is no reason I cannot go to the Greenwood with them, is there?_ he questioned himself. It suddenly occurred to him, _Is this why Ada has been morose when looking upon Greenleaf? Is he worried for Legolas and anxious about his departure?_

“Estel?” the Silvan prompted. Showing that he had heard all of what Thranduil and the Ranger discussed, which would have been difficult for him not to do since the King and Adan had spoken right outside the sentry’s door, Kalin told the human, “King Thranduil has invited you to the Woodland Realm. He has rescinded his decision to bar you from entering his lands. And he has just said he would not try to stand between you and Legolas. And from the sounds the two of you were making earlier during your bath, Legolas seems better than could be expected. What could possibly bother you?”

Kalin sat down upon the edge of the mattress and watched Estel with his increasingly worried gaze. The sentry’s questions went unanswered; indeed, Aragorn unintentionally ignored the Wood-Elf while he went to his armoire and took from it a pipe along with a fresh packet of pipe-weed. Not thinking about this now being the Silvan’s room, Aragorn began tamping weed into his pipe’s bowl as he reflected, _Or perhaps it is the periapts, after all. I ought to go find Ada to see what they are doing about their destruction._

Again, Kalin urged, “Estel?”

Gathering his wayward thoughts, the human just noticed that he was prepared to light the pipe in the Silvan’s room and stopped himself with the wooden stick held beside the candle upon the mantel. He told the Silvan with a sheepish smile, “I am sorry.”

But Kalin shook his head and motioned with his hand towards the candle, silently telling Aragorn to continue. And so the Ranger did. He lit his pipe and drew from it deeply, though he then walked to the open window to exhale the pungent smoke and thought of what Kalin had asked. _The sounds we were making after our bath?_ It had taken him a moment, but Estel finally realized what Kalin said – the sentry had heard his and Legolas’ lovemaking after all. The bitter smoke he held deep in his lungs came rushing out in a sputtering, coughing fit, and an embarrassed flush spread over him.

“You certainly sound like you need that pipe-weed,” the Silvan wryly stated, scooted back onto the mattress, and reclined against the pillowed headboard.

Clearing the smoke from his lungs, the Ranger immediately pulled in another draw from the long stem of his pipe – just to avoid needing to reply. Kalin did not seem discomfited to have heard his Prince’s amative encounter with the human, nor had he been teasing Estel, so the human decided not to mention it. Instead, he responded by blowing a nearly perfect smoke ring, which he aimed out the open window.

The Silvan sentry grinned at him, though his amusement gave way and Kalin soon changed the topic, “Estel. Earlier, when my Prince was here, Lord Elrond came in to check on me. He seemed…” The sentry paused in hesitation before concluding, “Well, he seemed forlorn, as if he missed Legolas even though Legolas sat before us all, laughing with the twins and I. Do you think he worries that my Prince is leaving for home?”

 _Even Kalin has noticed Ada’s strange demeanor. I wonder if Greenleaf has noticed it,_ the human contemplated.

“It could be. I am not certain. It might also have something to do with the periapts,” he explained, taking another long draw off his pipe. “I have not had the chance to speak to him alone.”

He realized that he had sparked the sentry’s ever-latent protectiveness of his Prince when Kalin stood up from the bed and walked to where Aragorn stood in the dim light coming through the window. Kalin leant against the wall beside the windowsill, asking, “What of the periapts? He is free of their control.”

“You should not be out of bed,” he rebuked the indomitable sentry, who disregarded the Ranger’s chastising when fearful that his Prince might be in danger. Knowing Kalin would not be discouraged from having answers, the Ranger admitted to the sentry willingly enough, being that Kalin was the only one to whom he could currently speak of it, “My father and brothers are set about the task of destroying the periapts. I have no reason to think this other than suspicion, but it occurred to me that their destruction might have some ill effect upon Greenleaf. However, it could also be, as you’ve said, that since my father knows of Thranduil’s intention to take Legolas home with him, my father is merely worried for Greenleaf’s well-being once he is not here for him to tend.”

“But you will be in the Greenwood, won’t you? And I will be there. Legolas told me I am his head sentry again – I won’t soon be leaving his side unless you are with him. Not even inside Thranduil’s halls, if I have my way. He will be fine, won’t he?” the harried Silvan asked.

Kalin had taken hold of the windowsill to steady himself, which made Aragorn muse, _He is barely able to stand. Will he be able to travel? Will Legolas truly be able to travel so soon? Perhaps instead of being grateful to be invited along with them, I ought to be arguing against their going._

In exasperation, for the reticent Ranger was trying the Elf’s nerves, Kalin pressed, “Estel? Legolas will be fine, won’t he?”

What could he say? He didn’t want to lie to Kalin but nor did he want to make any dour prognostications about the laegel’s recovery when after tonight, after Legolas’ eagerness to be intimate, it seemed the Prince might recover more quickly than he had before.

“I swear to you, Estel, if you don’t start talking, I will thrash you,” the sentry warned facetiously, although his tone and demeanor evinced he was only halfway playful.

Laughing lightly, Aragorn tapped the last smoldering embers of his pipe out the window and into the garden below – the pleasance where less than a week ago, Mithfindl had debased and beaten Legolas so thoroughly that without Elrond and vilya’s intervention, the Wood-Elf would have died shortly after his having been found. “I think he will recover. I think being the one to kill Mithfindl has done more for him than any of us could. But I will speak to my father tomorrow morning and report to you what he says, I promise you. Let us worry about it then, Kalin. It is the middle of the night. And much to my chagrin, I have not even asked you,” the Adan regretted amicably, "how are you feeling?”

“Fine, fine. I am fine,” the irritated Silvan assured the human. As had Legolas earlier that night, Aragorn noted how the sentry said this as if he had been repeatedly asked the same question. “To be honest, though, I am eager to return home and to have my Prince be home, as well. You will come with us, won’t you?” the sentry repeated his question from moments ago.

He wanted to go with Legolas, yes. He was entirely certain that Legolas would want him to come, also. He had no real reason not to go. However, the Ranger suddenly felt that his father would tell him to remain in the valley or go back into the wilds rather than follow the Wood-Elf Prince. Why he thought this stemmed from a vague intuition. “I do not know. I will need to speak to Greenleaf and to my father.”

This did not pacify Kalin in the least. But since Aragorn had promised to give him answers after speaking to Elrond, the sentry nodded. Without being asked, Estel aided the Wood-Elf back to the bed. He stayed long enough to ensure Kalin was comfortable and had all that he needed before saying his goodnights and leaving the room. Finally, the Ranger slipped back inside what were now his and Legolas’ chambers, shut the door behind him, and walked to the bed. The Prince had not so much as budged during the human’s absence. He breathed easily, deeply, and looked as serene as he did before the Ranger had left to speak to Thranduil and then Kalin.

Eager to quit his worries and ponderings of the future, the Adan wanted to lie beside the laegel as soon as possible – but first, he decided, _I cannot just let him sleep atop the blankets with his hair in a towel and in a wet robe._

Normally, the laegel was as quick to rise at the least provocation as was Estel, for Legolas was accustomed to being in the Mirkwood forest where danger lurked everywhere. Nevertheless, when the Adan pulled free the towel around the Prince’s head, Legolas did not rouse, though a fleeting frown passed over his gaunt face. The human decided that if the Wood-Elf woke from his handling, he would convince him to go to his King’s rooms after all. Cautiously, Estel slowly rolled the Silvan onto his back, eased his arms from out of the robe, and then slid the robe out from under him.

The Prince lay bare before him in the diffuse light of the mantel’s oil lamp. The sight of his lover uninjured and relatively well – current scrawniness notwithstanding – was enough to make the human’s eyes burn with tears, for even now, Estel felt immeasurable relief and gratitude to have the Wood-Elf with him. For almost the entirety of his knowing the Prince, Estel had always felt that Legolas was invincible. With the childish adoration of a mortal who had grown up amongst the Eldar, Aragorn often thought of his brothers, father, and Elves in general to be nearly invulnerable, despite that he knew better and had seen Elven lives lost. But until recently, none save his foster family’s lives had been as dear to him as was Legolas’ life. It was only in this past year that the Adan’s steadfast belief in the laegel’s indomitability had been questioned.

 _We are all lucky to have him with us,_ he told himself, letting his tears roll over his stubbled cheeks without bothering to wipe them away. Never had the human wept so much or felt such despair or sadness save for this last year – well, perhaps he had wept this much when a very young child, but not in his adult years, at least. Now, much like Legolas, who the Adan had never seen cry before the last several months, Aragorn could not seem to stop. _But I am luckiest of us all. Somehow, through all of this, he has chosen to be with me. I am human and male, but still, he has not turned away from me despite that humans were responsible for his torment and then Mithfindl disguised as me, and he has not lost his desire or love for me when most of the Eldar would have not only forsaken intimacy but also their waking lives._

In Mirkwood’s dungeons months ago, when Glorfindel had related to the Ranger of what the King had told the Prince during their conversation about Estel’s slaughter of Kane, the Imladrian commander had explained to Aragorn that Thranduil claimed to love Legolas so much that he hated him. The King’s constant, consuming fear of losing his son had caused the Sindarin King to seek to control the Prince with his fists and insults as a distorted means of protecting him. At the time, Aragorn had only thought Thranduil was selfish, for he had judged the Elvenking’s actions self-serving in that Thranduil wanted to avoid his being hurt or grieved by his son’s potential death or injury. But he had decided since then and it reoccurred to Aragorn now that he was just as consumed with love for Legolas as was Thranduil. Had he not treated the Prince in the same way as had Thranduil? Had he not tried to control the laegel, to make decisions for him, and to regard him like a child?

 _I cannot go to Mirkwood,_ the human told himself, although admitting this even in his mind caused his chest to seize with anxious wretchedness. Momentarily forgetting his self-appointed task of dressing his lover, the Ranger only stared at Legolas’ nude form, his eyes roaming the Elf’s body as if to memorize each detail. _I must let him go alone. Thranduil is right. I will not always be with Greenleaf to hold his hand, to tell him all will be well. Nor will my father or brothers be. Nor will Thranduil be, but the King will likely do no such thing in the Greenwood, anyway. Legolas will have only Kalin, truly, but though Kalin loves Greenleaf as much as my family or I love him, Kalin would never treat his Prince as a child or as incompetent, even if Kalin will not obey Legolas blindly, as he once did. This whole time, I have thought that Legolas would never recover from his torment if I was not there to aid him, but mayhap Thranduil is right. Mayhap Greenleaf will grow stronger in facing this on his own, if only for a while._

Aragorn shook his head rapidly and pressed his hands against his eyes, ere he finally dragged them over his face to wipe away the moisture there. 

 _Tomorrow,_ he told himself, although since dawn was only hours away, it was technically already ‘tomorrow.’ _Tomorrow I will speak to Ada of this, to Elrohir and Elladan. More importantly, I must speak to Legolas of this._ What the Wood-Elf would say to find that his father wished to leave Imladris, Estel could only guess. He imagined it might be a relief to Legolas to leave the hidden vale for now, to go home. What the Wood-Elf would say to hear that the Adan might be staying behind – well, Estel could not even begin to guess.

Taking up the clothes Faidnil had brought, the Ranger dutifully dressed the Prince, who did not wake through this, though he again frowned at the disturbance to his sleep. Not even when the Adan had to lift the laegel’s torso and head to slip the loose-collared shirt over the Elf’s head did the Prince waken, nor when he rolled the Prince again to remove the robe out from under him, shifting the blanket as well, so that he could drape it over the Silvan. He took the wet towel and robe to the bathing chambers, where he threw them in the pile of soiled clothing they had removed earlier, and then went back to Legolas.

 _It will be dawn soon,_ the human noted of the sight of the valley through the glassed doors that led to the balcony. _I will sleep until then, with Greenleaf, and then I will lead him to his father to eat while I go find my own father to discover what it is he knows of the periapts and of Greenleaf._

His mind more exhausted than his body, Estel climbed onto the bed and rolled to his side to face the Elf, who still laid on his back in deep repose. As if instinctually aware that the Ranger was now in the bed with him, the Silvan turned away from Estel but scooted backwards, seeking the human’s warmth automatically. In response, Aragorn aligned his body with the laegel’s, pushed aside the Wood-Elf’s damp hair, and then pressed his whiskered face against the back of the Elf’s neck. Even in his sleep, Legolas could tell that his lover was behind him; the Prince gave a contented murmur and wriggled his back and rear to fit more snugly against the human.

Aragorn closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he was sleeping just as soundly as Legolas.


	32. Chapter 32

The dawn’s bright light woke Legolas. For a few moments, he remained as he was – his eyes open but his body relaxed and still, and his mind utterly clear. Behind him laid Aragorn. Although it had only been several months of their sharing a bed, the Prince’s one thought so early this morning was this: _I cannot imagine waking without him beside me._

He pulled no more at that loose thread of thought, however, lest it unravel his carefully fabricated placidity. Instead, he focused upon the human pushed hard against him. In this brief, lucent, and lucid moment, Legolas kept his attention on the sensation of his and Estel’s bodies where they touched – which was everywhere, being that as was his wont, the Adan was curled into the Elf’s form. With his knees bent and nestled in behind the laegel’s knees, his back slightly curved at the waist so that his groin fit snugly against Legolas’ rear, his torso pressed against the Wood-Elf’s back, one arm draped over the Silvan’s middle, his face burrowed against Legolas’ neck, and his every breath blowing wispy strays of the Elf’s unbound hair, Estel was as close to the Silvan as he could possibly be. The laegel shifted his shoulders slightly so the Ranger’s whiskered face scratched against the Prince’s neck, and then smiled at the pleasant, familiar sensation.

Neither had moved from the position they had found several hours earlier when the Ranger had lain down beside the Prince, though Legolas had no memory of this since he had been asleep for it. The sunlight seemed strange to him. He could not immediately place why until he realized that for the last week or so the skies had remained murky with storm clouds. For the time being, at least, the rains had moved on and the late summer’s sun was rising in its full glory. Legolas was clean, dry, unhurt, safe, and unfettered by thoughts of revenge or hampered with worry for his sentry, friends, or lover’s welfare.

He slid a hand out from under the light blanket to rub the sleep from his eyes only to find he was wearing the shirt that Faidnil had brought, which is when he took notice that he was also wearing the trousers his father’s steward had borrowed from the King’s wardrobe. Another slow smile spread over his face as he recalled the night previous, of how he and Estel had bathed, found pleasure together, and then needed to bathe again. He recalled nothing after, but it was clear he had fallen asleep; this had not stopped Aragorn from dressing him, apparently. He had also not gone to his father’s rooms to eat dinner, as he had planned, and wondered whether his King was irate at his not showing, though he guessed his Ada would have come looking for him and learnt his son had fallen into exhausted reverie. He scrubbed his eyes, perceiving for himself how gaunt his face felt under his skeletal fingers.

 _I had better get up to eat. I promised both Minyatar and Ada,_ he told himself, though having broken his promise to eat last night did not daunt his cheerfulness this morn. _I should wake Estel to go with me to the kitchens or find a servant to bring us something… or perhaps go to my father’s room to see if he is breaking his fast this morning._

Legolas’ empty belly rumbled in irritated, ravening agreement. For the first time in days, Legolas felt his hunger acutely. Also for the first time in days, the Wood-Elf felt no sorrow. He knew it was only a matter of time before his grief returned to him, but he would take this temporary boon gladly and without anxiety for its return. With Mithfindl dead by his own hand, the Prince did not suffer the same level of distress as that which he had felt immediately after enduring the Noldo’s torment. To have had the opportunity to reclaim some dignity – even it was only a speck – was better than living with the shame of needing Estel or anyone else to settle his affairs for him, as Estel had done in killing the merchants. He did not revel in Mithfindl’s death now, but he had desired it greatly before seeing it done. Now that the thirst to spill Mithfindl’s blood was slaked, a great burden had been lifted from Legolas’ mind. He also hoped that having done this for himself would ameliorate his father’s anger for what the Prince had allowed to happen, for despite that his father no longer placed all the culpability upon the young Silvan, years of being held accountable by Thranduil for even that which the laegel could not control had ingrained within the Prince the propensity to take responsibility. Perhaps of greater significance was that the Elf was entirely under his own volition, with no periapts to control him. Furthermore, after realizing the night before that he was not disgusted, ashamed, or fearful to seek out pleasure with Estel, the Prince was relieved of his dread that he might never bear – much less desire – his lover’s intimate touch again.

He would be lying if he told himself all was well. The ignominy of his actions over the last fortnight – of his being tricked and used by Mithfindl, of his accusing Estel to be the culprit, and of his fleeing the valley to exact recompense – was not entirely alleviated. He believed his friends, father, and lover when they told him they did not hold him answerable for what he had done under the sway of the periapt. Perhaps he had not yet forgiven himself for allowing all of these things to happen, but this bright, warm day, Legolas hazily thought that even if he would never forget, in time he might be able to forgive himself.

More importantly, a different anxiety of his was alleviated for now. In the forest, when he had asked Estel to aid him to answer nature’s call, Legolas admitted to the Ranger that he did not want to live if living meant being the object of everyone’s pity and well-meant but isolating, mothering supervision. The human’s actions the night before during their bath – and after, as well – had been very different from what Legolas expected of Estel. The Ranger had not hounded his every step, scrutinized his every word, nor watched the laegel’s every movement. Indeed, Estel had seemed cheerful and playful, which was his usual demeanor around Legolas – prior to the last half-year, at least. Although initially uncertain as to whether to participate in the pleasure they had shared, the human had not argued against it once Legolas told Estel he wanted it and he did not want Aragorn to treat him like a grief-stricken fool. Having no knowledge of his King and his lover’s discussion over him, Legolas considered that mayhap this time the Ranger would be able to move on from what had happened to the Wood-Elf, which would aid Legolas in doing the same. Recently, Aragorn had spent an inordinate amount of his time and attention, and sacrificed his own well-being to see to the laegel’s needs and health – all of which Legolas appreciated and would be thankful for to his dying day. And yet, in the end, continually being treated like a broken Elf had kept the Prince feeling broken. Likewise, although Estel often told Legolas he was not weak or mad, the Ranger – in his sometimes overwhelmingly thorough love and devotement – had belied his assurances with his constant cosseting.

If last night was any indication of how Aragorn would act towards him this time around – especially now when the laegel had suffered from Mithfindl a greater degree of degradation and subsequent sorrow than from the human merchants – then the Elf could remain heartened and could retain hope that it continued. If the others still treated him as if he were as fragile as glass-spun thread, Legolas thought he might be able to live through it if only Estel continued to treat him like an Elf rather than a shattered marble that could never be glued back together properly. He was still concerned that he might not be able to live down the events of the past week, much as everyone had yet to forget the events of the past several months. Luckily, few knew of all Mithfindl had done except that the Noldo had tried to poison the Elvenking. In time, Legolas might not care if every Elf in Middle Earth knew the details, but for now, he hoped the secret could be kept without his having to endure the queries of the Imladrians. Estel had asked him for time; this morning, Legolas felt he could give Estel this easily. Indeed, the Wood-Elf Prince would be counting down the days until he and the Ranger could leave the valley on their own. Above everyone else, Legolas wanted Estel with him, and he discerned that his faer had no chance of healing without the Adan.

Rambunctious and deafening in the relative quiet of his chambers, the Elf’s belly growled in remonstration at its currently empty state and its owner’s slowness in remedying said hollowness. As much as he loathed getting out of bed, the Wood-Elf Prince carefully picked up Estel’s arm and placed it upon the human’s own side. He then threw back the blanket and slid away from the Ranger. Although he expected Aragorn would wake at Legolas’ first movement, the Ranger slumbered on, though in his sleep, the Adan’s hand instinctively fumbled out to find the laegel’s missing warmth. The smirking Prince observed as Estel’s hand slithered up to the Elf’s still warm pillow, where it rested as if the human thought he had found the Silvan himself. Legolas sat on the side of the mattress and watched Estel sleep for a few moments more. It was just now the break of dawn and he had only slept for half the night. So tired was he still that he could have lain back down and slept for a whole day – or perchance even two. However, the slumbering Prince’s mind had been cluttered with restlessness, while his hungry belly had steered dreams into imaginings of banquets, luncheons, and spreads of innumerable courses of rich and fragrant food. Again, his belly groused its complaint at being ignored. Legolas had been hungry before, certainly, but never this desperately. In fact, he felt so famished that he playfully thought he might eat Elrond out of house and home, if given the chance.

He padded quietly to the door to the balcony to peer outside. The sun shone brilliantly in the clear, cloudless, and azure sky. Globules of rain clung to every leaf, flower, blade of grass, and to the tiles of the roofs on the smaller houses and buildings across the river – they glistened in multihued brilliance with the advent of Anor. Disregarding his achingly voracious belly, for he was determined to wait until Estel woke to eat with the Ranger, the Prince decided, _I could use a walk. Word has not yet spread of Mithfindl’s death, I think, so I ought to enjoy the valley while I can still move about in peace, without anyone staring at me or stopping me to ask questions._

In his father’s finely made trousers and shirt, Legolas was as dressed as he cared to be, save for his bare feet. Being that the boots he normally wore were in the pit in the cave in the Trollshaws, the Wood-Elf had only one other option, lest he borrow a pair from someone else. _Unless Faidnil has moved them, they must be in here,_ he told himself as he dropped to his knees, opened the lid, and then shoved items about in the deep, long trunk at the end of his bed. Most of the clothing he usually kept within had been ruined and thrown out, such that the trunk was nearly empty, so it did not take long for him to find the only other pair of boots he had in the valley. They were intricately stitched, made of soft, light tan doeskin, and laced up just above his knees. He rarely wore them at all and could not recall ever having worn them outside the Last Homely House, for they had been a gift from Arwen, who had stitched them for Legolas years ago as a present. Before closing the trunk, he thought to grab his brush, and set it and the boots to the side before shutting the trunk’s lid quietly.

Casting a glance at Estel to see if his rummaging had woken the Ranger, Legolas saw that the human slept still. He sat on the couch and pulled on his boots, tucked the cuffs of his borrowed trousers within, and laced them up tightly. As they were meant to hug to his father’s thicker, longer legs tightly, the trousers were only slightly loose on him, but the shirt was billowy even after he had tied the lacings along the front to hide his wasted chest. In practiced motions and not needing a mirror, the Elf brushed and weaved his hair into its customary braids. Clean, dressed, and as kempt as he was able, the Wood-Elf paused again to check that Aragorn had not woken, and paralleling what Estel had decided of the Prince the night before, thought, _Since he has not woken, I think I will let him sleep. He needs this rest, undoubtedly._

As he left his room, Legolas noticed that across the hall the door to Kalin’s newly appointed room was opened wide. The Wood-Elf sentry was dressed, sitting on his bed, and putting on his boots. Legolas knocked gently upon the doorframe to get Kalin’s attention. Not waiting for an invitation, he walked within and to the bed, telling his sentry, “You’re up early.”

“As are you. For the first time in days, the sun is shining. I for one wish to be out in it,” Kalin beamed at his Prince, recognizing that Legolas likely desired to do the same. “I have had enough of lying around in this bed. Lords Elladan and Elrohir just left after checking on me, so they won’t be back for several hours, and if they can’t find me, then they can’t force me back into bed.”

The Prince chuckled lightly. When leaving his sentry in the tree so he could go hunt Mithfindl, he had teased Kalin that he would have the twins be Kalin’s nursemaid; as it turned out, they had taken the task upon themselves without being asked by Legolas. “Shall we walk together?” he asked Kalin, offering his hand to aid his sentry into standing from the bed.

Eagerly, his fellow Wood-Elf smiled and nodded. Kalin was always happy to spend time with his Prince, of course, but doing so now – after having been cooped up in this room, fearful that he might lose his beloved Prince while Legolas sought out Mithfindl in the woods, unable to aid Legolas due to being injured – was of comfort to the dutiful sentry’s mind. They walked from the room and began down the hall, past the King’s guest chambers, and entered the massive, vaulted-ceilinged room where the main staircase was situated in the center of the house. Kalin asked his liege, “Where is Estel? Is he still sleeping?”

His arm looped companionably in Kalin’s arm so that they could steady each other as they trod down the steps, Legolas responded in saying, “I thought to let him sleep for a while longer. He is exhausted.”

Kalin huffed in amusement or disbelief – which it was, Legolas did not understand, though he did not ask. All of his attention was upon keeping steady. His hunger was causing him to feel lightheaded and the stairs seemed never-ending. Upon the landing, the two Wood-Elves stopped in wordless concurrence to rest a moment, which is when Kalin complained, “My Prince, I know with Mithfindl dead there is surely nothing or no one of threat to you in the Last Homely House, but do you mean to say you intended to go walking out around the grounds without Estel or myself and without even telling anyone where you were going?”

He knew Kalin was only worried, but some of the cheer he had felt, some of the self-efficacy he’d regained slipped away in that brief moment in hearing his sentry admit to thinking his Prince incapable of fending for himself. That is, at least until Kalin explained himself by whispering so no one could hear, though the stairway was deserted of anyone besides them, “Your father would throw a fit over it if he went looking for you and could not find you, which is when he would ask me and Estel and neither of us would know… and then, he would find out you went walking alone. I have never seen our King in such a state as that in which he was mired when I awoke here. I remember nothing of the journey here, but I clearly recall how fretful your father was before they left to try to find you and Estel. He told us before he left that none of us were to go anywhere alone or eat or drink anything from the Imladrians until he was satisfied there was no more danger.” With a short-lived chortle, the sentry began down the last flight of stairs, telling his Prince while tugging at his arm to incite Legolas into walking, “I think it will be some time before he trusts the Imladrians with any of his people’s lives, I fear, and most especially your life.”

His merriment subdued but dwindling no more, Legolas understood from Kalin’s explanation that it was not that his sentry didn’t trust his Prince to fend for himself, but that he didn’t want their King to be troubled. After the last fortnight in the valley, when the Wood-Elves had not known friend from foe, it was not entirely indefensible for the Elvenking to fear his son and people might not be safe in Elrond’s realm. He did not reply but thought to himself, _If I had not asked Kalin to accompany me, Kalin might have stalked me just to ensure my safety or to keep Ada from throwing a fit. And he is right – had not I found Kalin was awake and willing to go for a walk, should Ada have come looking for me and I not been in my chambers, Ada would have started a search party._

The two Silvan ambled arm in arm out of the Last Homely House and into the courtyard. Being that the Eldar required much less sleep than did Eru’s other creations, even at this early hour there was a bustle of activity. Congenially, the Elves they passed all nodded, smiled, gave respectful greetings, or did all three, though none stopped the sentry and Prince. Legolas had hoped to walk out into the woods or perhaps the training fields towards the side of the house, but Kalin’s pace became labored before they even made it out of the shadow of the house.

To save his friend’s pride, Legolas offered, “Let us sit upon this bench for a while. I would hate to ruin these boots with mud.”

When Kalin nodded affirmatively, not in the least suspicious that his Prince was prevaricating to keep the sentry from feeling enfeebled, they steered towards one of the benches lining the outside perimeter of the courtyard. Choosing a location in the sun, Legolas and Kalin sat side by side upon the stone seat to watch the hectic activity of the Imladrians going about their daily business. Having grown up amongst these Elves and of course being that he was the Prince of Mirkwood, all of the Imladrians knew Legolas and by extension knew Kalin, and thus, many of the Elves stopped to spare a salutation to the two Wood-Elves whom they had known for millennia. Legolas gave them each polite replies but did not encourage conversation; he was helped in this by Kalin, who three times suggested he was tired and wished to return to his rooms soon in the attempt to forestall the continuance of chats when it seemed the friendly Elf who stopped to talk might prolong his or her greetings.

But otherwise, they spent a pleasant hour or so watching the sun as it rose above the Misty Mountains and said little to nothing to each other. It wasn’t until three mounted Elves arrived in the courtyard – two sharing one horse while the other rode alone but by a tether led another horse – that the Prince’s blissfully clear mind recalled how soon these Elves and this place might be tainted with the knowledge of his having killed Mithfindl. The arrival of these three Imladrians ended his peacefulness because upon the tethered horse was slung a wrapped body.

_Mithfindl. They have brought back his body._

Without thinking about what he was doing, the Prince stood, prompting Kalin to fumble to his feet, as well, and to ask, “Who is that, I wonder.”

“Mithfindl. It is Mithfindl.” Bewildered by his own desire and already walking away from his sentry, Legolas murmured to Kalin, “I want to see him.”

Behind him, his sentry gasped nearly inaudibly in sudden realization of what his Prince meant. Kalin had not expected for the Noldo’s body to be retrieved, it seemed. The elder Silvan wanted to spare the younger from even the reminder of what Mithfindl had done to Legolas and what Legolas had done in return to Mithfindl, and yet here was his Prince, picking at the scarcely scabbed over, festering wound of his faer with his determination to view his rapist’s body. Similarly, Kalin understood that the Imladrians would want answers as to why one of their own was dead. Though they were not likely to turn violent, just the chance that they might overwhelm his Prince with their curiosity or suspicions was enough to make him wish to take his charge away to where he could guarantee Legolas’ faer suffered no more repercussions from Mithfindl’s deeds.

In a desperate attempt to halt the younger Wood-Elf, Kalin shambled forward with as much haste as he could muster and stepped in front of Legolas to plead with his Prince, “Let us go back inside. There is no need for us to be out here for this.”

But the Wood-Elf did not want to leave. Like a moth hell bent on burning its wings upon a candle’s flame, the Prince stepped around Kalin and began forward again with the intention of viewing the Noldo’s body. He knew well what he had done to Mithfindl; he had seen his tormentor’s laid open throat and blood-soaked clothes immediately after his having slain the fell warrior. For some reason he couldn’t identify, he wanted to see Mithfindl now. No, he _needed_ to see his debaucher’s cold and lifeless body.

Kalin seized his Prince’s arm and by this hold yanked Legolas to a stop. “Don’t,” the once obedient sentry argued with the younger Silvan in a whisper, adding plaintively, “Leave it alone. Please.”

He yanked his arm free and shuffled towards where the riders were stopped. He only assumed word had yet to spread that Mithfindl was dead, although most in the House knew the Prince had returned with Estel, Elrond’s family, Thranduil, and the entourage they had taken with him. Soon, the whole valley would know. Soon, they would all know Legolas was the one to have killed Mithfindl. And soon, their judgment of him would begin.

_If they decide to string me up for killing Mithfindl, then let them do it now. Let them harangue me and insult me, call me kinslayer, or drag me to the nearest tree with noose in hand. Let it be over, if it is to happen at all. In the meantime, I would see Mithfindl’s corpse. I would have the sight of him seared into my mind, so I will never doubt he is dead and I am the one to have done it._

Walking more slowly than his Prince was walking, Kalin trailed ever a step behind with his hand out as if he might stop Legolas again, but he could not catch up before the younger Silvan was at the Imladrian guards’ horses. Two of the guards had left to fetch a litter, more than likely, while the remaining Noldo was standing beside the horse that carried the corpse. Around them, a small crowd began to gather. The Imladrian Eldar were calling out to the remaining guard, asking her who was dead and what had happened. She answered them, telling her kith it was Mithfindl’s corpse and that the Prince of Mirkwood was the one to have killed him, but Legolas paid her no mind except to note she did not answer any further questions put to her as to when and how and why. Although the Elleth watched him questioningly as he approached, she did not deign to stop him when he began to untie near to the Noldorin warrior’s head one of the cords holding the shroud over Mithfindl’s body. Now, with so many watching, Kalin did not try to stop Legolas because he did not want to disgrace his Prince by acting beyond his station as a sentry.

With the knot free, Legolas flung back the cloth to expose a torrent of hoary, tangled hair; it was by this shock of silver that the Prince lifted Mithfindl’s head to see the warrior, for the Noldo was bent at the waist, facedown over the horse. Congealed, dark, and thick, blood painted Mithfindl’s visage and clothes. He had not noticed it upon performing the act, but in cutting his tormentor’s throat, Legolas had nearly cut Mithfindl’s head from his neck – just as Estel had told the others during his narration of what had happened upon his and Legolas’ encounter with the Noldorin warrior. Legolas heard several gasps and a hushed chorus of murmurs as the small crowd saw for themselves how their fellow Imladrian had died.

Stepping closer to his Prince and surreptitiously taking his elbow to steady himself and to comfort Legolas, Kalin viewed with interest what revenge his Prince had exacted. The sentry exclaimed softly, “Ai Ilúvatar, Legolas. You nearly hewed his head from his body.”

“That is your doing,” the Prince absently told Kalin, gently lowering Mithfindl’s head once he had his fill of looking at the dead Noldo, and thus showing Mithfindl more kindness than ever had the warrior shown the Prince. Upon turning around to leave and thereby noting his sentry’s bafflement, the laegel explained, “You did your due diligence in whetting my long knife. It parted his flesh like a hot knife parts butter. ”

Oddly enough and caught off guard, Kalin snorted once in surprised, dark amusement, though upon remembering they were standing amongst Mithfindl’s kith, who might not appreciate the Silvan’s delight at seeing his Prince’s degrader slain so viciously, Kalin shook his head and gave Legolas a furtive, fleeting smile. Speaking almost directly into his Prince’s ear, Kalin admitted jauntily, “If I had known at the time for what you intended your long knife sharpened, I would have dulled it to make it hurt the foul bastard more.”

The remaining soldier, who had stood by while Legolas looked upon the body, was an Elleth with hair the color of obsidian and eyes to match. Respectfully, she walked up to the two Wood-Elves with a bundle wrapped under her arm, the cloth of which the laegel knew immediately. _I had forgotten about leaving those. What did they think when they found them? They must have known that they were mine, that with the ties cut they were removed from me._ He had hoped to delay everyone in the valley knowing any of the details of what had transpired but a simple pair of trousers might have dashed this hope. However, the Wood-Elf then realized with a start that there had never been any true hope; the warriors who had accompanied Glorfindel had likely seen Legolas sitting by the river clad only in a long shirt, ere Elrohir had given him a new pair of trousers to wear. They had also seen his injuries. _Even if no one who truly knows what happened ever speaks of it, all will suspect,_ the laegel rued, pressing his eyes shut tightly for a moment as he despaired over losing the peace he had come to depend upon in Rivendell.

With an affable smile that showed no pity or any other hint that the Elleth had drawn any conclusions from finding the Prince’s trousers where finding Mithfindl’s corpse, the she-Elf held the bundle out to Kalin to take for his Prince. Once the sentry took them, she reached up to the saddle over which the corpse was laid, pulled free Aragorn’s broadsword and Estel and Legolas’ bows and quivers, which she then handed over to the sentry while telling them, “Prince Legolas. These are yours and Estel’s, I believe. We found them in a tree.”

His long knife he had brought with him during their arduous journey to safety, which was the weapon he cared most to have retained, but he was glad to see Estel’s broadsword was found. Kalin handed his Prince the bows while he belted the Ranger’s broadsword to his own waist rather than carry it, ere he took back the bows, quivers, and trousers, though he stuffed the trousers into one of the quivers to conceal them from sight.

Kalin must have known the Elleth, for when this was all accomplished, he told the she-Elf on his Prince’s behalf, “Thank you, Reana.”

The small gathering of curious onlookers moved back, as did Legolas and Kalin, when the other two guards showed up with the litter on which to place Mithfindl’s body. He ought to have left, he knew, before any kind of disturbance erupted. He could hear the Imladrians around them. They asked each other what had happened. They asked why Mithfindl was dead. Of course, they knew already that Mithfindl had been missing and had been hunted by their own people as part of Glorfindel’s search, but they had likely expected for Mithfindl to be brought in alive. They also now knew Legolas had been the one to kill him, for just moments ago, while the laegel was viewing his excruciator’s corpse, Reana told her kith the barest of details by telling them the Prince was the one to have done it. He could feel their eyes upon him. He could feel their judgment, though not all of it was uncharitable.

The Elleth had not yet moved away from them but stood nearby while her fellow Imladrian guards settled Mithfindl’s once more shrouded corpse upon the litter. What might happen to the body after this, Legolas did not know nor care to know. Indeed, unable to bear the scrutiny from the Imladrians, the Wood-Elf thought to go, though he paused when Reana commented softly to Kalin, as if Legolas might not hear, “Your Prince exacted revenge, did he not? Why did he not capture Mithfindl and bring him before Lord Elrond?” she asked with inquisitiveness, but without blame.

Kalin’s response was not spoken quietly at all. In fact, the sentry replied stridently enough that the Elves around them hushed to hear what the elder Wood-Elf said when he answered, “Mithfindl tried to kill Estel, who was with my Prince in trying to bring justice against Mithfindl for his vile plot in poisoning my King. Had not my Prince slain Mithfindl, Estel would be dead and your Lord mourning the loss of his foster son.”

Those around them overheard, just as Kalin intended. In the brightening morning light, the warmth of the late summer day already growing in tandem with the humidity, Legolas could feel the difference in the way his fellow Elves regarded him. Without the same censure or suspicion, the Imladrians whispered to each other about the turn of events that must have led to Mithfindl’s attempt to kill Estel. The whole valley was already aware of how Elrond’s foster son had thrashed Mithfindl on the training field that day in the early spring; they knew Mithfindl had hated Estel and Legolas, and humans and Wood-Elves in general; they had been told Mithfindl was fleeing to avoid punishment for his attempt upon the Elvenking’s life. Other questions would arise eventually – why Mithfindl had tried to poison the King, why Glorfindel had called off the search, leaving only Legolas and Estel to seek Mithfindl, and how Faelthîr was involved.

For now, though, the laegel breathed a calming lungful of fragrant, balmy air, while a deep and swelling tide of love for his sentry whelmed the comburent anxiety that had been smoldering in his being. In the blink of an eye, Kalin ensured word would spread that Legolas killed Mithfindl to save Estel’s life. It was the truth, of course, but also omitted so many details that it felt to be a lie to the Prince. Always his sentry tried to safeguard him; never had Legolas been more grateful for Kalin’s staunch protectiveness.

“Shall we go eat now, my Prince?” his fellow Silvan asked deferentially, hefting the bows and quivers he held.

His rational thought inundated with immeasurable gratitude for his sentry, Legolas found himself unable to answer aloud and so only nodded his head. As they walked out of the courtyard, the Imladrians whom they passed stared at the Prince or nodded to him politely. Whereas the Silvan had worried they would all judge him to be a murderer, he saw nothing but respect upon their faces and in their demeanors towards him, for had not vengeance against what they thought was an attempt to murder the Elf-King not been a good enough reason, killing Mithfindl to save their Lord’s human foster son was a worthy cause. Besides which, they all knew Estel was his lover, so the Prince’s choice between Mithfindl and Estel was an easy one for them to imagine making had any of them been forced to choose between saving a lover’s life or killing one of their own who had tried to kill a King, a Prince, and their Lord’s son.

“That was ingenious of you, Kalin. Thank you,” the Prince told his sentry with an affectionate, beholden smile once they were back inside the House’s main hall, which was still empty so early in the morning. “But how did you even know what happened? I told you last night I would tell you today and have yet to do it.”

“Lords Elladan and Elrohir told me. I’m sorry,” Kalin sheepishly told his Prince, taking Legolas’ arm in his own once again so they could climb the stairs with each other’s support. Estel’s broadsword’s scabbard clanged as it struck the wall, causing Kalin to juggle the bows and quivers he held so he could adjust the sheath’s belt around his waist. “I couldn’t wait any longer to hear what had happened and pried the story from them.”

Legolas laughed heartily. They paused upon the landing as they had on their way down, with the two Silvan gathering their strength to climb the last flight of stairs before the floor upon which their rooms laid. The Prince’s rumbling belly was as hopeful as was Legolas that Estel might now be awake so they could eat breakfast together. He looked forward to sharing Kalin’s kindness with the Ranger, who would appreciate what the sentry had done, as well. Truly, after last night and this morning, the laegel was feeling wonderful.

The Wood-Elf Prince chastised in a mockingly serious tone, “Kalin, you cannot do that. You cannot call them _Lord_ Elladan and _Lord_ Elrohir any longer. Not now that you are part of the family. Next we will need to teach you how to pull pranks.”

Laughing in both amusement and enjoyment of his Prince’s joyfulness, Kalin nodded in agreement, though he said, “Well, since we leave tomorrow morning for home, we will have to wait until next we visit before causing any mischief, I think.”

 _Home?_ the shocked laegel repeated to himself. _We are going home to Mirkwood?_

Not noticing the effect his casual mention of the King’s plans had on the Prince, Kalin began climbing the stairs again and said, “If Estel comes with us, then I suppose I will have one of my new brothers upon whom to test my skills at pranking, but if he doesn’t, that will just give us time to plot mischief for our eventual return to Rivendell.”

 _If Estel comes with us?_ The idea of going home without his lover depleted every pleasant thought and feeling from the Silvan’s mind and faer. Legolas was returning to Eryn Galen and from what Kalin had just said, there was a chance Estel would not be coming with him. Unknowingly, the Wood-Elf Prince came to an abrupt halt, which unbalanced Kalin, causing the sentry to stumble back a step. _If? Kalin said_ if _Estel comes with us._

“Legolas?” his sentry asked as he turned to check why the laegel had stopped, which is when he saw the sudden, abject wretchedness upon the younger Silvan’s face; more importantly, however, Kalin could feel the pang of despair that lanced across his Prince’s chest. “Legolas, what is it?”

Unable to answer his fellow Wood-Elf just yet, the Prince leant against the wall of the stairwell when his knees felt weak beneath him. He was lucky to have done so, for in the next moment, Legolas found himself sliding down the wall, his legs no longer willing to hold his slight weight. Kalin carelessly tossed the bows and quivers he held to the landing several stairs down so he could to try to catch his Prince before he fell; however, Legolas did not tumble down the steps but only sat down upon them. Kneeling before his Prince, the sentry began pleading with his charge, though what he said, the young Silvan could not hear.

Legolas had thought his day could not possibly get any better, but he had not considered how it could get immensely worse.


	33. Chapter 33

“Legolas?” Kalin was nearly shouting at him to try to get his attention. “What is it, my Prince?”

His head was swimming. He had heard that expression before but never understood quite what it meant until now, but indeed, it felt as if the contents of his skull were floating independently of the rest of his body, such that each minor movement caused his mind to reel. The great staircase swiveled around him and he could not focus upon any one thing to try to make the whirling stop. Had not his back been against the wall of the stairwell, the Prince would have fallen backwards as his dizziness overwhelmed him. He tried to answer Kalin but managed only a faint mewl of revulsion as the spinning room made his belly turn over.

“Legolas,” his sentry said again. Kalin was so familiar with his Prince that he had felt his charge’s sudden rush of anxiety and knew something had aggravated the younger Elf’s faer. Lowering his voice and getting closer, Kalin told his Prince as much, whispering, “I felt it, Legolas. I felt your despair. Please, my Prince. What is wrong?”

Clearly, the sentry could not fathom over what his Prince was upset. To Kalin, their going home was joyous news and he must have expected for Legolas to feel the same about their looming departure. Hoping to quell the sickness that the sight of the whirling room caused him, the younger Wood-Elf shut his eyes and put a hand out to the wall, thinking to get his bearings before he passed out from lightheadedness or began dry heaving from nausea. Anxiety may have facilitated his nearly fainting, but hunger was the true culprit behind his current feebleness. He needed food, yes, but more importantly, he needed to talk to Estel. With this in his befuddled mind, the Prince swallowed thickly, thinking to try to speak again. He had nothing to vomit but the urge was great, regardless.

In a voice gruff with queasiness, Legolas requested of Kalin, “Help me to my room, please.”

“Kalin, what is it? What’s the matter with the Prince?” another voice asked from above them on the steps. Having been walking to his King’s room, the head of Thranduil’s guards had heard Kalin calling his Prince’s name and come running to its source. Not giving Kalin the chance to answer, Ninan asked again with terrified impatience, “Kalin, answer me. What is wrong with him?”

Kalin placed a hand upon each of the Prince’s shoulders to steady him, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop spinning around Legolas, which is when he could perceive that Ninan was now crouched on the stairs beside Kalin. His faithful sentry did not wish to tell Ninan that their Prince’s grief might have stricken him, for then the King would find out, and Kalin was ever wary of hiding any inkling of his Prince’s perceived weakness from everyone – most especially their King. And so, his sentry told their fellow Silvan, “We were speaking and walking up the stairs, and next I know, he needed to sit down. I think he is merely dizzy.”

By the balustrade, he pulled himself into standing, which is when two sets of hands seized him. Ninan grabbed hold of the younger Elf’s shirt and hip while Kalin held tight to Legolas’ waist to ensure their Prince did not lose his balance. Aware that his sentry was trying to conceal the additional cause of his current state, Legolas interposed, “I think my hunger has finally caught up to me. It will pass. Help me to my room, please.”

“You’re as white as your shirt,” Ninan remarked, moving his hold of his Prince to his liege’s upper arms in the effort to try to stop Legolas from walking. “Please, wait a moment. I’m not taking word to your father that I let you pass out and fall down the stairs. Are you certain you can walk?”

“I will carry him,” Kalin offered at once. He tried to slip his arm under the Prince’s knees to pick up the wavering younger Silvan, but evinced his own instability when before he had the laegel in his arms, he stumbled after misjudging the step behind him. Ninan then let loose of the Prince with one hand and steadied Kalin.

“I can walk,” he tried to assure the sentries. They ignored him.

Ninan scolded his underling and yanked him to a stop when Kalin tried to bend to carry Legolas again. “No. You are weaving on your feet almost as badly as is Legolas, and Thranduil will murder you if you drop the Prince down the stairs and then me for letting you carry him while knowing you are still recovering from serious injury. Move back. I will carry him.”

“I can walk,” he weakly tried to argue again, though now that Kalin’s steadying hands were removed, Legolas’ head tilted forward, which then caused his entire upper body to pitch forward as his sentience nearly left him. Had not Ninan already been there in preparation to pick him up, the Prince would have fallen onto his face.

Not bothering to debate with his Prince, which irked Legolas despite that he knew he was not being very convincing in trying to sway them that he was more well than he looked, Ninan did as Kalin had been about to do and slid his arms under the laegel’s knees and behind his shoulders. Easily – too easily, in fact – Ninan hefted his Prince against his chest.

“You are just skin and bones. You weigh nothing, my Prince. Your father will be displeased that you have still not eaten,” the sentry reproved under his breath, and then took off up the stairs at a near run, while Kalin struggled to keep up.

 _He sounds more like my father every day,_ the laegel bitterly told himself, though he could hardly fault Ninan for being so faithful to the King. It was his job, after all, and his chosen calling, just as Kalin had chosen to do the same for Legolas. Except, Ninan believed his King could do no wrong and followed his every command, while Kalin had come to question Legolas when he felt it needed, though it would not keep the sentry from doing as his Prince bid him to do. Having Ninan scold him as would Thranduil was a new occurrence. Before what had happened this past fortnight in Imladris, Ninan would never have dared to criticize his Prince in any way. As Legolas fought the urge to retch from the jouncing of the sentry’s jogging, he speculated, _Will they all treat me like this, now? Will they all question my every decision, my every action, and judge me deficient because they now think I am broken with grief?_

But he knew he was being uncharitable. He clearly was at his strength’s end and would have fallen had he tried to walk. Legolas closed his eyes against the sight of the hallway spinning around him. Fortuitously for the stricken Prince, they did not take him far. Although Legolas expected to be lugged to his own chambers, Ninan paused before the King’s guest room, telling Kalin to open the door only by insisting, “Quickly.”

Before the Prince could convince Ninan to carry him farther down the hall, or if nothing else, to put him down so he could try to walk, Kalin opened the door and it was too late for them to go unnoticed by the Elvenking. Thranduil was sitting upon the couch, an ancient tome in his hand that he’d likely borrowed from the Last Homely House’s library, when the two sentries and Prince came barreling through the entrance. At seeing that Ninan carried his son, whose head lolled over the sentry’s arm like that of a floppy rag doll, the King tossed the tome to the cushion beside him and demanded, “What has happened? What is wrong with him?”

Ninan wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong with Legolas, except in that the Prince had told him that he was suffering from being underfed, and so the Silvan head guard explained on his Prince and underling’s behalf, “Hunger, your Majesty, according to the Prince. He is light as a feather and I can feel every bone in his body,” Ninan offered with an annoyed glare at Kalin, as though it were the sentry’s fault for his Prince’s sorry physical state.

“He is fine, he merely got dizzy walking up the stairs,” Kalin assured Thranduil rapidly, the habit ingrained over the years of trying to subdue his King’s oftentimes inexplicable anger for the Prince causing Kalin to speak up out of turn. The sentries did not lie to Thranduil but nor did they speak the whole truth; of course, they did not know the whole truth. Yes, Legolas was starving to death, quite literally, but also, he was overcome with anxiety at the thought of leaving Aragorn behind in the valley.

When Ninan tried to lay his Prince upon the couch the King just vacated, Thranduil interjected, saying, “No, place him upon the bed. He will be more comfortable there.”

Ninan adjusted the younger Silvan in his arms and took him into the guest bedchamber, both Thranduil and Kalin on his heels. The moment Ninan placed Legolas upon the bed, the Elvenking was beside his son, none too gently pushing his head guard from the way so he could reach the Prince. “You didn’t eat last night and I take it you didn’t eat this morning yet, either. Why were you walking about with a belly that’s been empty for days, Legolas?” his father charged angrily, fear causing him to revert to his normal belligerence. The King hissed in aggravation, “Can you not be trusted to take care of yourself, or must I employ a minder as if you were an Elfling still?”

Thranduil’s anger took the Prince aback, for he had not expected to be the target of his King’s irritation this morning, and it shamed him to be treated like a child in front of Ninan and Kalin. In his humiliation, he squirmed upon the bed to try to sit, but his father’s hand pressed the center of his chest and kept the younger Elf flat upon his back.

“I was waiting for Estel to waken,” he explained haltingly, knowing his excuse was paltry and would not appease the King. “I thought only to take a walk whilst giving him longer to sleep.”

“I knew I should not have let you sleep last night. The human said he would see to it that you ate this morning, and yet here you are, passing out from hunger while he lies abed still?” his Ada railed, his voice rising as his rage grew, and in his anger reverting to calling Aragorn by the vague epithet of human rather than by name. By instinct, the Prince shrank away from his father out of entrenched expectation of being hit or belittled, as he had so often been victim to since his mother had passed, and he averted his gaze so not to challenge his King’s anger. Thranduil gave Legolas no chance to respond but ordered Ninan, telling him, “Only moments ago I sent Faidnil to Legolas’ rooms to find him, to wake him so he could have breakfast with me. Go find Faidnil and send him to the kitchens immediately. Legolas is not waiting another moment before he eats.”

Ninan did not need to be told twice. With as much alacrity as he used in his jog to get the Prince here, Ninan ran out of the room to do as he was bid. It was ridiculous for his King to blame Estel for Legolas not having eaten; however, the Prince did not have the energy to dispute his father’s intimation that Aragorn ought to have made Legolas eat, as if the human were the laegel’s nanny or nursemaid. Besides, he knew his father spoke out of fright for him and not out of true resentment of Estel.

“I was dizzy, that is all, and I was going back to my room to eat,” he tried to tell his father, but unable to take a deep breath, his words were mere murmurs. He grabbed hold of his father’s hand to try to move it. Unintentionally, the King’s hand was stifling the Elf’s breathing by its forceful hold upon his torso. Unwilling to anger his father by trying to force the King’s hand away, he lightly held onto his father’s wrist and pled, “Ada, please.”

Thranduil looked down to him in confusion, clearly not understanding at first – at least, not until from where he lingered beside the bed Kalin told his sovereign, “Your hand, Majesty. He cannot breathe properly.”

At once, the King’s ire dissolved and he moved his hand, saying, “I am sorry, my son.” Normally, his father’s rage was not as easily cast aside as it had just been. The reversal from wrath to devotion made Legolas’ head swim as much as his hunger was doing. Thranduil moved to sit nearer to Legolas’ hip and took the Wood-Elf’s hand in his own, which he patted while giving the younger Elf an apologetic smile. “You certainly look better now that you are clean and dressed, and your hair braided and washed. But you cannot avoid eating any longer, my son. I will not watch you waste away to nothing just because your faer is suffering.”

He didn’t wish to avoid eating. The mere mention of food was making his mouth water. It had been circumstance and not sorrow causing Legolas to go hungry over the last several days, and exhaustion that kept him from eating last night. “I do not starve myself intentionally, Ada, I promise you. Whatever Faidnil brings, I will happily eat.”

Legolas’ promise made an abnormally merry smile cross the King’s face. In the morning sunlight from the open doors to the veranda just beyond the bed, his father appeared younger and healthier than he had in years beyond count. Even the King’s eyes – a similar though slightly darker shade of blue than Legolas’ eyes – shone with a vivacity that had been long missing and they did not secret his love for his son. Strangely, the King looked pleased with himself, which confused Legolas. Unbeknownst to the Prince, his father was happy with his efforts to be kind and was pleased that the young Silvan had responded to his compassion with eager obedience, when normally the King applied violence and threats to have his way.

Thranduil told the Prince while patting his hand again, “Good, good. Then just lie here until Faidnil brings you breakfast. I won’t have you falling over and hurting yourself.”

Compliantly, Legolas laid upon the bed with his father looking down to him, though occasionally the King would reach out and smooth an errant hair upon the young Silvan’s head or adjust his too large shirt, before picking up Legolas’ hand again to hold. Not even bothering to pretend to be doing something other than watching his Prince, Kalin stood beside the King. _He will not leave me be until he knows why I felt despair while talking of going home,_ the Prince thought of his sentry.

They stared at him as if they expected he might starve to death right before their eyes. Feeling lazy and useless just lying there, again Legolas tried to sit up, but once more, his father laid a hand upon his chest, though this time he was careful to do so only lightly. “Be still, be still,” his father told him. “Faidnil won’t be long, I’m sure of it. Then you will sit and eat, and then you will sleep for a while, I think, and then eat again. And no more traipsing off through the valley today.”

So much like Elrond did Thranduil’s fatherly instructions sound that the Prince could not help but to chuckle, which earned him another satisfied smile from his father. His sentry, who was rickety upon his feet and looked as if he could barely stand another moment, soon earned his King’s atypically considerate directives next when Thranduil told him, “Sit, Kalin, before you fall. Better yet, come recline here beside Legolas upon the bed for a while. I will have Ninan help you to your room when he returns.”

Kalin blushed in horrified shame to have his King fret over him and poorly hid his shock at the King’s friendliness. He opened his mouth to deny that he needed to rest but Thranduil glared at him, a stern frown suddenly upon his face though his voice was benevolent when he ordered, “Now, Kalin. I am not picking you up off the floor just because you are too stubborn to sit.”

With a questioning look to his Prince at their King’s odd behavior, Kalin hobbled to the opposite side of the bed and climbed upon the mattress, though he sat against the headboard with his legs folded before him. “Thank you, Majesty,” the sentry told their King. “I went walking with the Prince and I think we have both overexerted ourselves.”

“Elrond told me that vilya’s magic uses both the wounded’s strength and Elrond’s power to accomplish its rejuvenescent  magic, such that though your bodies are healed, you still require the rest you would have needed had you healed in normal time,” the King told them, idly fingering the fine stitching of leaves upon Legolas’ doeskin boots. “Today, I want you both to remain in your rooms, and if I catch either of you out of the house again, I will have Ninan post sentries outside your doors to keep you within and resting. Is that understood?” their King asked with a paternal frown.

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas replied, while Kalin said, “Yes, Majesty,” at the exact same time.

When Thranduil stood to cross the room to fetch the water pitcher, from which he poured a glass for Legolas, the sentry and Prince looked to each other; while Legolas gave his sentry a confused but amused smile, Kalin only looked to his Prince with worry, for the sentry still felt and wondered why the younger Silvan was sorrowful to hear they were going home soon. Kalin would have to wait for an explanation, of course, since the sentry would not ask in front of their King and nor would Legolas offer such information with his father listening.

“Drink,” Thranduil told the young Elf and handed him the glass of cool water.

He sipped the water under his father’s observation while wondering at the cause behind his King’s patient demeanor. His father’s anger he was accustomed to, but this paternal patience… well, Legolas was beginning to think Elrond had reproached the Elvenking into being a better father. Had he known it was Estel to have rebuked the King into behaving without anger and thus allowing his love for his son to guide his words and actions, the laegel would have been mortified.

Even more surprising was the King’s kindness towards Kalin. The Elf-King loved the Silvan and long ago adopted their culture as his own, despite being raised in the Sindarin ways. He had and would always stand up for them, do what was best for them, and protect them. Thranduil respected Kalin a great deal – the sentry would never have been made the captain of Legolas’ sentries otherwise. And yet, after Kalin’s disrespectful insubordination in demanding that the King remove the periapt from the Prince, Legolas had thought his father would hold a grudge. Not only was Kalin forgiven, it seemed, but he was also being treated with Thranduil’s peculiar concern.

“Enough, enough,” the King told the Prince and took the glass away from him, admonishing, “Leave room for food.”

A moment later, Ninan returned in a hurry, coming straight to the bed to look upon his King and Prince. The harried sentry had endured a trying fortnight in the Last Homely House – as had they all – but for Ninan, having his King poisoned, his Prince attacked twice, and then to have his Prince wandering the woods looking for his attacker and his King soon following behind to look for his Prince… well, from the look of him, Ninan was at his wit’s end, despite that the danger was now over. That they were soon to leave for home might have comforted Ninan, except he first needed to get his King and Prince safely to the Mirkwood over a distance riddled with peril. He asked, “Shall I fetch Elrond or one of his sons? Is the Prince in need of a healer?”

Startlingly, Thranduil deferred to Legolas, inquiring, “Do you want for Ninan to find Elrond?”

He did not want Elrond, Elladan, or Elrohir. He wanted Estel. He could not speak to Estel about whether the Ranger would come with them to the Greenwood with his father around, though. So he shook his head and declined, “A good meal is all I need. And rest, as our King says.”

“As you wish, my Prince.” Ninan took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing with the assurance that his Prince would be well. However, the guard soon turned his keen attention to Kalin and was not pleased to find Kalin sitting upon Thranduil’s bed. In harsh criticism, the King’s captain of the guards said began, “Kalin. Get up. Have you no decorum?”

But from where he stood at the foot of the bed, the King ended Ninan’s reprimanding with a wave of his hand and this explanation, “Leave him be. I commanded him to rest before he fell over. Did you find Faidnil?”

Ninan looked no less displeased at Kalin’s informality around their King but said no more of it. He clasped his hands behind his back and answered Thranduil, “I did. He sent one of the other servants to bring the Prince leftovers from last night’s meal, being that he had made it especial for the Prince. There was some mess in the Prince’s bathing room that Faidnil wished to clean up himself, or so he said, but told me he would personally bring the food once it was prepared.”

The mess Faidnil was cleaning up was the salts and soaps the Prince and Ranger had knocked into the floor during their robust lovemaking. The work Faidnil had done to ensure his Prince had a well-stocked bathing chamber was now ruined. Legolas had to wonder if Faidnil refused to let anyone else clean up the room because he and Estel might have left evidence of their post-bath pleasure, and once wondering this, the Wood-Elf found himself flushing with indignity to think that Faidnil would be wiping up spent seed from the floor, off the wall, out of the tub, or washing it from the towels.

“Good,” the King said of Ninan’s information before instructing the sentry with deadpan humor, “In the meantime, help Kalin to his room so he can rest properly. He looks as if I will behead him should his muddy boots touch the coverlet.” Thranduil then smiled at his own humor before he instructed Ninan ambiguously, “Once you are done, see about tomorrow.”

Kalin did not wish to go. He said nothing, but the sentry was desperately trying to find some way to remain so he could keep watch over his ailing Prince. In the end, however, Kalin must not have found any reason he thought might convince the King, and with Ninan’s help, Kalin rose from the bed. Truly, his sentry was in better shape than he was at the moment, for Kalin could walk well enough, such that as the two sentries left, Ninan merely went with Kalin to ascertain he would reach his room safely. Legolas watched them go while wishing Kalin could have stayed.

Thranduil walked around his guested bedroom and fidgeted with the ornamentations, running his hands over the limbs of the stone candelabras that were carved in miniature but highly accurate birch trees – candelabras that had been borrowed from Elrond’s chambers to adorn the King’s rooms for now. As he fiddled around, Thranduil hummed. The last time he had heard his father hum or sing had been under strangely similar circumstances. When Legolas had tried to carve free the fell voice of the scar from his thigh and after the King had thrown Estel and the twins from the Greenwood, Thranduil had sung to his son while holding him in the Prince’s bed. Before that, it had been innumerable years since Thranduilion had heard Thranduil sing. It was the very same song as that night, and though now Thranduil only hummed it, Legolas knew the melody well.

The gentle tune and his father’s kind presence began to lull the Prince into a deep abstraction; in fact, he nearly fell asleep. But eventually, just before the Prince could no longer keep his eyes open, Faidnil returned and brought with him a tray of food. The somnolent laegel’s belly rumbled him awake at the smells of fresh bread, fragrant, dark tea, and the bowl of hot soup from which he could see steam wafting. With Faidnil and his father’s help, the younger Silvan sat up, his back propped by pillows. Faidnil lingered only long enough to wait for Thranduil to sit upon the bed and then hand the Elvenking the tray, before he smiled at Legolas and left. In turn, the King settled the tray over Legolas’ thighs and with spoon in hand, stirred the thick, aromatic soup, which the Prince could see was made from venison, mushrooms, and barley. It was one of his favorite foods, which Faidnil had likely made for him to eat last night upon his return to the valley. His mouth truly began watering. Under his father’s observation, the Wood-Elf spooned the soup into his mouth as fast as he could, for after the first bite, the Silvan’s appetite was whetted. He wanted nothing more than to break the bread into huge chunks and shove them into his mouth as fast as possible, but could hardly pause in consuming the soup to be bothered to break the bread. However, after only half of the bowl was gone and only a few bites of bread were missing from the loaf, Legolas’ stomach began cramping. Having been empty for so long, it now protested being filled, and the Wood-Elf dropped his spoon onto the tray.

“You have barely touched it,” his father chastised while he looked down into the bowl to gauge how much his son had eaten. “You cannot be full.”

Legolas slid his hand over his belly, where the soup and bread were destined to come back up if he did not stop for a while. “I am not full, no Ada, but if I eat anymore, I may be sick. I think my belly is too used to being empty.”

Although he looked as if he might argue, Thranduil picked up and then set the tray upon the nearby table, and took from the table a teacup to bring to the Prince. He handed the warm, sweet-smelling tea to him, instructing, “Then it is a good thing Faidnil has brought you mint tea to ease your stomach’s ache.”

Before he had finished the cup of strongly brewed, delicious tea, Legolas’ belly did indeed feel better. In fact, he almost asked for the tray back to finish his soup and bread, but then his father began speaking. “I do not know if Estel told you this last night, for I told him while you were sleeping – we leave tomorrow morning, my son. Today you need to sleep and eat well so that you regain enough strength to be ready to go home. If necessary, I will borrow a wagon from Elrond upon which you can ride until we reach the higher elevations. It will slow us down but give you a day or two more to rest before we need to cross the mountains.”

There was no chance Legolas was riding in a wagon; the Prince was not enduring that shame. Sitting here with his father, eating and being fussed over by his Ada, had caused Legolas’ anxiety to wane, but it came back full force at the reminder that tomorrow he might be leaving his second family and lover in Rivendell. “So soon?” he asked carefully. He did not want to question his father’s decision, for the King never took being questioned well, but Legolas still held hope that his father might be dissuaded. “I am well, Ada, I promise you. Well enough to ride. But not well enough to be of any use just yet, should we encounter trouble. Nor is Kalin.”

“Yes, but your sentries Galendil and Oiolaire will be with us, as well, and Glorfindel has offered to send some of his best with us for added protection, saying that they will go all the way to our front door if I wish, though I think our own people will be enough guard.” Coming to sit on the bed’s edge once again, Thranduil took the empty cup from Legolas and sat it upon the small table beside the bed. Legolas had not heard from Kalin the King’s full intentions, but being that Thranduil was unaware whether Legolas knew of it at all, his Ada explained with a shrewd but indulgent smile, “I know over what you worry, my son. You think I will take you away from the Ranger. Do not worry. I have told Estel his banishment from the forest is rescinded. If you wish him to come with us, and if he is willing, then he may accompany us.”

Legolas’ heart was overjoyed to hear this. He could imagine no reason for the Ranger not to come except for Thranduil keeping the Adan from doing so. He wondered then again, _Why did Kalin say ‘if’ Estel comes? Does he not know Ada rescinded his banishment? Or has he spoken to Estel? Has Estel told Kalin he might not join us?_

It was useless to beg his King not to go to the Greenwood. In fact, Legolas was surprised his King had remained in Imladris this long, for it was unlike Thranduil to pass on his Kingly duties to his advisors as he had. Not since before his Naneth had died had his Ada left the Greenwood for any length of time. 

A knock upon the door drew their attention away from their conversation. Before the King could even rise to answer it, they heard Kalin call out, his voice growing louder as he walked farther within, “Majesty? Legolas?”

“I thought you would be resting,” the Elf-King admonished upon seeing who it was. “In fact, I am fairly sure I commanded you to do just that.”

Kalin stopped just inside the doorless entryway between the sitting room and bedroom, where he leant against the stone casing. “I had forgotten to retrieve the Prince’s bow and quiver from the staircase, where I dropped them when he became dizzy, and went to do so,” he explained, although from how Kalin’s worry slowly eased just by being near Legolas, it was clear his true intent had been to check on his Prince. “I wanted to be certain that neither of you needed anything before I returned to my room.”

Thranduil eyed the sentry from head to foot, as if measuring Kalin’s honesty when he answered this question: “Are you well enough to leave on the morrow’s dawn for home, Kalin?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” the sentry said at once. Kalin would not let his Prince depart for home without him, Legolas knew. He could see the fervent protectiveness on his sentry’s face. Kalin added, “If I have to tie myself to my horse to keep from falling off, I will be riding beside Legolas, I promise you.”

“Of course. I should not have doubted it.” Thranduil gave the Silvan sentry a genuine, pleased smile. “Come, Kalin. Let us leave Legolas to sleep for a while. Let us talk of our departure. You are more familiar than is Ninan of the paths between here and home, having travelled them so often with Legolas, so tell me which is the fastest this time of year,” the King ordered the sentry, motioning with his hand for Kalin to precede him into the sitting room.

He laid atop the blankets, his belly now appeased though not quite full, and listened to his father and sentry speaking congenially – which was somewhat surprising in and of itself. He would have to wait until he saw Estel before his fear was appeased that the man would not be joining him on their journey, but before long and though he wanted to stay awake, the still exhausted and recuperating Silvan was asleep.


	34. Chapter 34

When the Ranger awoke, he first recognized from the sunshine flooding the chambers that it was beyond dawn. Estel then realized he was alone. In sudden panic, the human slid his hand over the Elf’s side of the bed, feeling for the warmth that ought to have been there had Legolas only just left it. Upon the empty expanse of mattress in front of him, the vaguely Elf-shaped imprint of the laegel’s lithe body was cold to his touch. Immediately, he thought to bolt from the room, to begin searching the rooms and halls, to question every Elf whom he saw, to involve the twins, Kalin, and any passing person he met in a search for the Prince. Despite his escalating unease, he knew he would do none of these things. Aragorn had made a promise; he would keep this promise even if it killed him. And at the moment, his abrupt anxiety was causing his chest to hurt and making it hard for him to breathe.

 _I have slept too long. I should have been awake at dawn – as I promised myself and Thranduil to be – so I could see Legolas ate._ Managing to take a deep breath to ease his panic, he thought he heard the soft, tinkling sound of glass coming from the bathing chamber, and though he considered he might be imagining this and believed no response would come, still he sat up hurriedly and called out, “Greenleaf?”

Conversely, someone did answer, though it was not his Wood-Elf lover. From the bathing room came the answer, “The Prince woke hours ago, Estel, and is with the King now. Do not worry.”

The voice sounded very familiar but the Ranger could not immediately place who it was. Aragorn scrambled off the bed and into the bathing chambers, wherein he found Faidnil kneeling upon the stone tiles and sopping up bath oils and salts from where they were puddled about the floor. Faidnil’s answer should have comforted him but the human was irritated with himself for not waking when Legolas woke and could find no comfort in knowing that the Prince was with the King.

He stood in the doorway between the two rooms. The smell of soap was overwhelmingly strong and only grew stronger as he walked to where the Silvan servant cleaned. Aragorn asked, “With the King, you say?”

Faidnil spared him a smile of greeting before resuming his task. “Yes. Or at least he was there a short while ago when I left Thranduil’s rooms. From what Ninan told me when he came to fetch me, the Prince became lightheaded from hunger.”

 _He woke and didn’t immediately eat? No doubt, he was waiting for me to waken,_ the human guessed of his Silvan lover. He ran his hands through his hair to push it from his face but did so with impatient aggravation, which made him yank at the tangles in his thick mane, and thus caused him to grunt at the pain he caused. _At least he has eaten now,_ he told himself, though still he wished he had been awake, for he would have made the Elf eat ere leaving the room.

“I took him some venison and barley stew, along with some peppermint tea to calm his belly. By now, he will have eaten, and after, the King intended for the Prince to sleep awhile,” the servant offered with a final swipe of his damp cloth. “If you are hungry, I can go fetch you some, as well.”

“No, but thank you, Faidnil.” Had it been any other servant, Estel might have wondered at how readily Faidnil offered up private information concerning his Prince and King; and yet, the Ranger recalled again Kalin’s observation about Faidnil, about how the King’s steward accepted the Adan as his Prince’s mate since he had been willing to include him amongst those for whom the servant fretted. Apparently, Kalin’s supposition was true, indeed, since the Silvan was willing to bare his Prince’s illness to the Ranger. “I am sorry we made such a mess,” he told Faidnil, while wondering what the King’s servant thought of the state of the bathing room.

Faidnil smiled at him again. It was a candid smile, both sagacious and erudite, and from it, the Ranger considered Faidnil might realize why his Prince’s bathing chamber was in such disarray. Tossing his towel into the wicker basket in which the dirty laundry was kept, Faidnil sat back upon his heels and evinced that he knew exactly why the room was messy in saying, “Do not be sorry. My Prince deserves all the comfort and joy he can possibly obtain, and if this is the aftereffects of your comforting him, then I will clean it up happily in knowing that Legolas feels all the better for having made it.”

Aragorn could find nothing to say to this, though he did manage not to sputter or blush as he had when learning that Kalin knew of his and Legolas’ after-bath pleasure.

The Silvan continued, “You were sleeping soundly. You slept through my coming in here looking for Legolas, and then through Ninan coming in here to find me, and through my leaving and returning again to finish cleaning. I did not wake you, did I? You need your sleep as much as does Legolas.”

“I should have already been awake,” he told the Silvan, though it was to himself he complained, “I have slept too long. It is already midmorning and I meant to be awake to see that Greenleaf ate.” To be of help, the Ranger knelt on the floor next to Faidnil and began throwing towels into the basket, all of which were wet or covered in soap. He asked, “So you have seen Legolas? And he is with the King right now, you are certain?”

“Yes and yes. He went walking with Kalin and upon their return nearly fell down the stairs, so overcome with hunger was he, but Kalin was there to keep him from coming to harm, do not worry,” the servant assured Estel quickly upon seeing the Ranger’s instantaneous alarm to hear that the Prince had nearly fainted and fallen down the steps, and then added, “Ninan carried the Prince to Thranduil’s rooms. I left a short while ago to take him food. The King is ensuring he eats and then rests for a while longer. And you know my King,” Faidnil told Estel with a mysterious grin, “he will see the young Prince is fed and rested, whether Legolas desires it or not.”

Sighing deeply, the human wiped soap oil from his hands onto one of the relatively clean though damp towels. “Leave this, I will clean it later,” he offered to Faidnil. “I had planned to do so this morning anyway.”

With another of his knowing smiles, the servant shook his head in disagreement but said nothing. Faidnil began throwing ceramic shards into an unbroken but empty pot of salts. Aragorn scanned the room, as if he might spy spent seed anywhere that he could clean up before Faidnil did it. As had Legolas, though Aragorn could not have known it, the Ranger felt mortified at the thought of having the Silvan servant taking care of such a personal mess. He saw nothing, though realized, _He might have already wiped away any such evidence, since the room is nearly as spotless as it was before our bath last night._

“You can go to the King’s chamber to see Legolas, if you worry for him,” Faidnil offered to the human. “Thranduil will not mind. I dare not speak for my King, so this is only my opinion, but you must know without my telling you that Thranduil no longer fears you as he once did.”

The Ranger physically startled to hear this from Faidnil. He sat there with his mouth slightly agape and thought, _Fears me? Why would Thranduil ever fear me?_

As if aware of the Ranger’s pondering, Faidnil scrubbed at a spot upon the floor that was slick with bath oil and elucidated, “You must realize already that the King has always feared the influence you have over Legolas… a stronger influence than Elrond or his sons, I should say. Indeed, my Prince committed treason to come to you after promising his King to remain in the Greenwood. No one else – not even Elrond, I think – could make Legolas forsake his father’s wishes so thoroughly.”

“It was never my intent. I did not ask Legolas to leave the Greenwood,” he felt compelled to argue. “I thought I would never see him again when I left, though of course, I hoped something might happen to change that fate.”

“No, but you didn’t need to ask him. He loves you. I have seen my Prince courted and wooed by those who desired him, and not once did he ever pay a single one any mind. Except you,” the Silvan said pensively, pausing and looking out the small, round window placed high upon the wall of the bathing chamber, where only the branches of the tree growing along the house could be seen. “When you walk into a room, Estel, the whole of Legolas’ attention turns to you, and it is the same for you, also.”

Aragorn dropped his gaze to the floor, which now showed no sign of the disorder they had made of it the night before. He wasn’t so sure about Legolas, but Faidnil spoke truly when saying that the Adan’s attention was solely upon the Wood-Elf Prince. The servant said this as if it were desirable, but for Estel, this reminder that his lover’s existence had continued after his torment and even now hinged upon Aragorn’s own presence and continuance did nothing but firm his resolve to stay behind when the Silvan and their King left. _Perhaps Faidnil will have good advice on this matter,_ he considered, and so looked up to the servant to ask.

He was discomfited to find Faidnil staring at him with a melancholy expression. While clearly it was not Faidnil’s place to speak of his King or Prince’s personal affairs, the elder Elda reckoned the young Adan a worthy recipient of his acumen, and so told the Ranger what he had guessed to be true, “You are not coming with us to Eryn Galen, are you, Estel?”

Truly, the Adan had not made up his mind on the matter. He barely knew Faidnil, but he found himself wanting to hear the servant’s opinion, and so admitted, “I think perhaps I should not. In time, I may come, but for now, I think it best that I remain here or go back to my duties in the wilds around Eriador.”

Without judgment, the servant asked him, “And you will not ask Legolas to join you? If you asked, he would come with you without hesitation.”

The thought had occurred to him but only in passing, though not because he didn’t want the Prince to accompany him. No, Estel had not considered asking his lover to join him because he did not want to place the Wood-Elf in the situation of having to choose between him and Thranduil. As much as he hated to admit it, the Ranger had seen and could still see the wisdom in the Elvenking’s argument. Legolas needed to learn to depend upon his father for support, and not the ephemeral Ranger, whose life would end long before the Wood-Elf’s life – or so he prayed.

“Ah,” Faidnil said with a chuckle. They remained on the floor of the bathing chambers, both kneeling as if in obsecration of the sunlight that spilled from the tiny window in a roundish ray upon them. “I see.”

Irritated, though he was not certain why, the Ranger shifted and made as though to stand. Desire though he did to know Faidnil’s opinion, he suddenly felt as if the Silvan were laughing at him or amused by his situation, though he was also certain that Faidnil would never take lightly the matter of his Prince’s welfare.

“You are a fine man, Estel. I see why Legolas has chosen you for his mate.” Faidnil looked back to the window. The leaves of the tree cast small, leaf-shaped umbrae over the panes of glass and caused the light to dance with the shadows over the Wood-Elf, Ranger, and the bathing room. “You do not wish to come between father and son. And likely, my King’s argument has had some sway over your thinking – that is, that upon your mortal life’s end, Legolas will die should he not learn to depend upon his father for aid in carrying the burden of his grief. It is a fine sentiment, Estel, but I think the both of you – you and the King, I mean – are placing too much hope in my Prince’s recovery.”

His crossness dancing away right along with the flitting leaves’ shadows, he worried aloud, “You think Greenleaf will die of grief? You think he will never heal?”

“Eventually, perhaps, he may fade, and no, I do not think he will ever heal. I think he will live an embattled life, full of sorrow and regret, and every moment he doesn’t spend with you is one less moment of happiness he might have had otherwise.” Faidnil grabbed the basket of towels, placed the jar of shards within it, and now that the room was flawless once more even if it lacked towels and most of the soaps, Faidnil stood to leave. Aragorn never thought to hear Faidnil admit to his Prince’s faer’s frailty, for it went against what the Elvenking wanted everyone to believe of Legolas; moreover, when said by the elder Silvan about the royalty to whom he had dedicated his long life, such direness seemed shrewdly portentous.

He looked down to where Estel still knelt. “However, every moment the Prince is not with the King will be one less moment of contentment for my King. It is my duty to place my King’s comfort and pleasure above all else. In doing so, much to my shame, I have watched silently for many years as the King’s odium and anger for the Prince grew, giving counsel when able to Thranduil to ease his anger for Legolas, and interrupting his tirades when I feared they might go too far, but I have not done all I ought to have done for the Prince, though I have done what I could.”

 _I wonder how many beatings Thranduil might have given Greenleaf, had not Faidnil stepped in with his endless patience,_ the Ranger suddenly considered, seeing the elder Silvan in a much different light than before. He had not thought the Prince held any allies amidst Thranduil’s servants or guards, being that none of them had dared to oppose the King on Legolas’ behalf before; well, save for Kalin. _I wonder if Legolas knows this._ Faidnil wasn’t seeking praise for his help to the Prince – he was seeking absolution for not having helped enough by helping Legolas now, by overstepping his role as the King’s steward to be of service to his Prince, instead.

“You have forgotten my story from last night, I see. You must let Legolas choose. If you wish for him to accompany you, as I know that you do, then you must give him the option to do so. It is not your place to decide for him by never giving him the opportunity,” the Silvan servant advised kindly.

Faidnil set the basket down upon the table and walked to the tub, wherein sat a nearly empty bucket of water he had been using to clean. Faidnil rinsed out the tub by splashing water into it ere he then poured the last bit over his hands to wash away the oil and salts thereon. “And Legolas will choose you over his father. Months ago, Thranduil would have seen this as treasonous, as reason to believe Legolas was no true Prince or a weakling, or mad or tainted, or any number of invectives that he has titled Legolas time and time again over the years since the Queen died. But the Thranduil who is even now taking care of Legolas, who has felt true fear to lose his son for the first time, who now knows he cannot control the Prince to keep him safe and has come to understand his son and his love for you – _that_ Thranduil will be brokenhearted to see his son leave into the wilds, but he will not stop him. He will want for the Prince to be happy for as long as possible.”

Bleak but insightful, Faidnil’s perception of his situation was as clear as the water with which the servant washed the soap from his hands, letting the overspill slosh into the now impeccable tub, where it gurgled as it went down the drain.

“To be honest, I desire Legolas’ happiness more than I care for Thranduil’s contentment, but you are right, and nor do I desire to come between Greenleaf and his father,” he found himself confessing, only realizing upon hearing his own words that he might be insulting the servant by insinuating the King was less important than the Prince, even though Faidnil had implied something similar just moments ago. “I hold more hope than you that Greenleaf will live beyond my death. Taking him away from his father during this time does not seem the wisest way to ensure this.”

“Perhaps there is a compromise? You should ask Legolas, should you not?” the servant inquired as he used the last clean towel to dry off his hands, ere he threw it into the basket and took said basket up to wash its contents. Bowing his head slightly as if Estel were anyone of importance – though since the human was now his Prince’s consort, perhaps to Faidnil, the Ranger was of some status – he bid him, “Good morning, Estel. If you have need of anything, I will be about, readying for my King’s departure.”

“Thank you, Faidnil,” he told the ancient Elf, who only nodded in response.

Estel watched the servant leave before he stood, as well. His knees popped as he did so. While not plagued with the same gout and aches as some of the other humans of his age, Aragorn listened to his crackling joints with compunction, for they only reminded him of his mortality. And it always came back to his being mortal. Had he been Elvenkind, likely none of this would have happened, but even if it had, Estel would have the lifespan to see that Legolas endured his grief or the ability to sail with him to the Undying Lands if nothing else.

He ambled into the bedchambers, thinking of Faidnil’s suggestion. _Compromise? What kind of compromise? I don’t believe Faidnil – Thranduil would be content with nothing less than Legolas’ return to Mirkwood. It was a compromise to him to rescind my banishment from the Greenwood. Anything more than that and he will come to hate me again for supposedly corrupting the Prince._ He found his boots and shoved them on without bothering to fasten them properly. In the same loose shirt and trousers he’d worn to bed, and not even bothering to see if his hair was standing on end as it usually did when he went to bed with it wet, Estel left what were now his and Legolas’ chambers. _I should speak to Ada before I make up my mind. I know he has an opinion on the matter, certainly, as will the twins._

Across the hall, the door to his old room stood open. No one was inside, leading the human to conclude, _Kalin is with his Prince – or at least, I hope he is. When Legolas finds out they are returning home, he and his father might argue. I do not trust the King’s temper, despite his recent kindness towards Greenleaf and the promises Thranduil has made to me. Please stay with Greenleaf,_ he thought to Kalin.

He made short work of the walk down the hall and up the stairs to the floor above, where laid his father’s study and the apothecary. Upon nearing the elaborately carved door to the storeroom of herbs, Estel’s nose curled in disgust before he got close enough to fling the door open, but upon doing so, he found his father and both twins inside, along with a foul stench that hung in the air.

“Eru’s arse,” he coughed, waving his hand in front of his face as if by this he could disperse the smell from ever reaching his nostrils.

“Ah, Estel,” Elladan greeted his human sibling jubilantly, coming to the door and giving the Ranger a clap on the shoulder. “You are just in time to smell Elrohir’s failure. You know our brother. When he fails, he fails spectacularly!”

“I am not failing, I am learning,” the younger twin argued with a falsely affronted frown at his identical brother, which gave way to a jovial smirk for Estel. “We can’t all be born perfect like you, Elladan.”

“That is true. One day, when you are older, and with practice, you will be as knowledgeable as am I,” the elder twin rejoindered with a long-suffering, melodramatic sigh.

Aragorn chuckled halfheartedly and followed Elladan farther within the room. Despite the twins’ cheer, Elrond was preoccupied and broody and his usually kind face was set into dour concentration. Upon the long, roughhewn, plank table running the length of the middle of the room sat the ornate box containing the periapts. Estel walked to where the box laid with its top off to peer inside it. Legolas’ blood ran a brown, crusted trail across the inlaid, soft fabric that lined the box, and one of the periapts – the one Mithfindl had placed upon the Prince that had stayed upon Legolas long enough to have embedded within his skin – was coated with blood, as well.

“I would not have thought herbs would have any effect on this kind of magic,” the Ranger said in response to his brothers, who had strewn around the counter a variety of herbs, some of which the normally learned Adan could not even name.

Not taking his eyes off the book he studied, his foster father answered, “They don’t. Elrohir was merely passing the time, trying to brew a batch of the same medicine we made Thranduil to wake him when the King was overdosed with the milk of the poppy. As Elladan did the first time, Elrohir over boiled it, which is why the apothecary smells of a swamp’s stagnant water.”

He walked over to where Elrohir was scouring a pot. Stuck to the inside of the small iron cauldron were blackened bits, sludge, and unidentifiable pieces of organic matter. “Why then did you try to make this foul smelling potion?” he asked the younger twin.

Laughing, Elrohir scooped up a bit of the sludge and flicked it in Aragorn’s general direction, though it flew past the human and hit the far wall, where it slid down the stone in a slow moving, olive hued trail of filth. “Boredom, dear brother. While Ada has been researching, Elladan and I have had to find something else to occupy us, being that Ada insists he needs our help.”

He snickered at Elrohir and reached out to get a globule of the mess to fling back at the twin, but Elrond chose that moment to lift his head finally to look at Estel, which made the Ranger withdraw his hand and forget his intention of starting a sludge slinging fight. His Ada then looked towards the door as if he had expected someone to be with the human. “Where is Legolas?”

“With his father, according to Faidnil. Legolas was gone when I woke.” From the disconcerted looks of his brothers and father, none of them expected for the Adan to let the Silvan Prince stray from sight. He admitted with more remorse than was called for, “I have not seen him since last night, when he fell asleep after bathing.”

“I asked you not to leave him alone,” his father rebuked him gently, though he then nodded and returned his attention to the book at which he looked, adding, “but you have spoken with Thranduil so I should not be surprised. I see he has placed the same doubts in your mind as he has in my own.”

It was the human’s turn to be surprised. _Thranduil told me he spoke to Ada of this but I would not have thought Ada would truly be swayed by the King’s arguments._ He settled his rear against the counter behind him and responded, “Thranduil told me he worries our Greenleaf will never indurate his faer against his sorrow should we coddle him as he thinks we have been and currently are doing.”

“Coddle?” the younger twin asked with a snort of incredulity. He stopped his task of scrubbing and shook his head with a spry grin, looking between his twin and Adan brother as if for explanation.

Aragorn did not share his brother’s amusement though he could appreciate Elrohir’s disbelief. “Thranduil told me I will not always be around to hold Legolas’ hand, to comfort him, to tell him all will be well. He told me Legolas has come to depend upon me too much, and all of you, also. After having nearly begged me to do what I could to incite Legolas to want to live, to try to pull him away from his grief as I have done before, he now he says my doing so is detrimental to Greenleaf’s well-being.”

“Thranduil may be right. And yet, there is no going back. Legolas’ life is now intertwined with your life, Estel,” his foster father patiently but morosely explained to him while turning a page in his book. “As are all lives of lovers, yes, but more so for you both because you are mortal and Legolas’ life is already tainted with grief that would make most of the Eldar flee to Valinor or fade to the Halls of Awaiting. The King told me he fears you are only prolonging Legolas’ life until your death, which though I know is not your purpose, is likely the case regardless.”

“Thranduil is taking Legolas and his people back to the Greenwood,” he told them, though he was quite sure Elrond knew this already. And indeed, upon his saying this, Elrohir and Elladan turned to him in astonishment, while Elrond continued to peer through his book – the book over which Erestor had pored to find answers for them when first they deliberated whether Legolas might be under magical imprecation. “He said it would be better for Greenleaf to die now than to linger until my death.”

“But you cannot go into the Greenwood,” Elladan brought up. Like his human brother, the twin reclined against the counter on the other side of their father. “You are banished.”

Before he could reply, Elrond interjected, as if determined to change the subject, “Did Legolas eat last night?”

Elrond was never shy to give his opinion. Indeed, people of all races sought out the Peredhel in hopes of hearing the astute Noldo’s judgment. Aragorn wanted it now but he could see his father was likely trying to find a way in which to give it without beginning an argument or causing the Adan to balk at his advice. But still, Elrond was the only father the Ranger knew, and so he answered dutifully, “No, he fell asleep after bathing and would not waken. Thranduil came by to fetch him to eat and did not have the heart to wake him either. I had hoped to see that Greenleaf ate this morning, but he woke before me. He is with Thranduil now, as I said, and Faidnil told me the Elvenking was assuring Greenleaf both ate and rested.”

Elrond nodded in appeasement that the Silvan whom he loved like another son was fed and well for now, and then began flipping the pages of the book backwards with rapidity, as though searching for something he had only just read. Aragorn was not to be dissuaded from having his father’s estimation, and so again, he broached the topic by responding to Elladan’s worry, “Thranduil rescinded my banishment. He invited me to travel to Mirkwood with them.”

Realizing Estel would not give in so easily to his exasperated attempts to avoid this conversation, Elrond slid a beech leaf between the pages to mark his spot, shut the book, and then gave all his consideration to the Ranger. He would not be reading his book for answers with the Ranger present and vexed as he was. “Estel, it is for the best that Legolas goes back to Mirkwood.”

He had never thought to hear his father say such a thing. In fact, he had thought his father’s distemper was due to hearing that Thranduil wished to take the Prince home. Confused, he walked around the table so he could face his father, and then sat upon one of the benches lining the walls. The Ranger asked simply, “Why?”

The elder Noldo placed his hands palm down upon the table and stared at them while telling the Adan, “Because I am not his father. Because Elladan and Elrohir are not his brothers. Because you are not his husband. Because this is not Greenleaf’s home. Legolas needs to be with his people and family, with his father, in his own lands, in his own home.”

Forgoing his scrubbing, Elrohir walked to stand beside his twin, his hands dripping wet with sudsy water and remnants of the ruined potion. The three brothers all looked to their father in sheer, dismayed dubiety. To Estel, his father’s words sounded like something Thranduil might say. The human swallowed thickly, feeling betrayed to hear Elrond utter such blatantly offensive half-truths. He told his foster father this, not bothering to hide the anger in his tone, “Are those the reasons he gave you? And you now mimic what Thranduil says? You agree with him?”

Elladan and Elrohir – who nearly always took their father’s side because they shared his astuteness and could usually see the wisdom in what he said even when Estel could not – were standing side by side, shaking their heads at Elrond. Aragorn was no Elf, but he could sense his brothers’ indignation at Elrond’s claims. It was true, of course; the twins were not Legolas’ brothers, but they were as close as if they were. Elrond was not the Wood-Elf’s father, but Greenleaf thought of Elrond as if he were and loved the Peredhel as much if not more than his true father. And Aragorn – well, while the mortal was not Legolas’ husband, to have his father say it as if he doubted the Adan’s devotion was a low blow.

“Yes, those are the reasons Thranduil gave me. From the time that I first argued with him to send Glorfindel and our kith into the woods to search for the two of you and Thranduil argued against it, the Elvenking has stated and restated that I overprotect Legolas. He said only he is Greenleaf’s family and none of us has a right to act as if we were his family. And no, I do not agree with him. Or rather, I hope he is not right. I hope we have not weakened Legolas’ will to live while thinking we were comforting him,” the Peredhel admitted with a long exhale.

Elladan and Elrohir moved as one towards their father, one twin moving to stand on either side of him in silent support, for though he showed little to make Aragorn think it, the Peredhel was distressed at the thought of having harmed the Prince in any way. When Elladan reached out to lay a hand upon his Ada’s shoulder, Elrond laid one of his own over it and finally continued, “But I cannot persuade Thranduil otherwise, and I have no claim over Legolas to force Thranduil into allowing Greenleaf to remain. If his King wants to take his Prince home, then home he will go.”

So, in fact, Elrond was quite upset about Legolas leaving, just as Estel had assumed once hearing of the laegel’s imminent departure; also, the Peredhel had apparently tried to dissuade Thranduil from leaving but lost the argument. _It is no wonder then. He fears for Legolas, as do we all. Until recently, Ada did not know just how cruel and disinterested Thranduil was towards Greenleaf’s life and welfare, but now that he does, I’m sure it is eating at him that he can do nothing to safeguard Legolas’ well-being by ensuring that Legolas remains with us._

“But you will go, won’t you, Estel? Why shouldn’t Estel go?” the elder twin asked the human and then his father, leaving Elrond to come to Estel to sit beside him on the bench.

The younger twin picked up a cloth, wiped his hands dry on it, and also walked to where Aragorn sat. As he sat on the opposite side of the bench as his twin, such that now Estel had a twin on either side of him, Elrohir supposed, “You said Thranduil invited you. Surely your presence is more palliative than the rest of ours combined.”

He looked at his father and could see the same upon Elrond’s face as he felt upon his own – resignation. Aragorn had questioned his father’s acceptance of Thranduil’s opinions when he had accepted them just as Elrond, and so now felt foolish to reply, “I am not certain if I should. I do not want to leave Greenleaf but going to Mirkwood seems like a poor idea to me.”

“Because Thranduil’s doubts are planted firmly inside your mind as they are in mine,” his father restated. Elrond took to straightening the herbs and sundry items on the counter and table, as if by organizing these, he could organize his muddled thoughts. “You fear Thranduil is right and Legolas will die upon your death.”

He did not want to admit the veracity of his father’s statement. So instead, he informed them, “Faidnil told me this morning that there is no hope for his Prince to live beyond the end of my life. He told Thranduil and I both last night we were being foolish for trying to decide what was best for Greenleaf when what is best for Greenleaf is to decide for himself.”

“Faidnil said this to Thranduil?” the Peredhel asked in uncommon astonishment, his head cocked to one side and both eyebrows lifted high upon his unlined forehead.

Aragorn nodded and sniggered weakly. “He did. He suggested to me this morning that I ought to ask Greenleaf to come with me into the wilds, letting Legolas choose whether to go home or with me, which would let his Prince choose what was best for him.”

They all sat in silence for a while, each of them pondering Faidnil’s suggestion and the overall dilemma of how to facilitate the longevity of Legolas’ life. The twins’ merry mood of earlier was absent and Elrond’s former dour concentration was now just sour vexation. _Ada will have a hard time studying how to destroy the stones now that I’ve commenced his worry,_ he thought, which then reminded him of something else that had been pestering him. He began without preamble, “The destruction of the stones… they will have no ill effect upon Greenleaf, will they?”

“I do not know, honestly.” Saying as the Adan had thought the day before, the Peredhel told him, “Legolas is the only being still alive upon whom these periapts have been used, and certainly, to my knowledge at least, the only being not a beast. There is no indication in this book about how to destroy the stones, much less what potential effect their destruction might have. We are working blindly, I fear.”

The man’s heart leapt into his throat with anxiety; but then, Elrond smiled at the Ranger and told him, “But do not fret over it, Estel. I believe the hold the stones had are utterly broken once removed. I do not fear our destroying them will harm our Greenleaf, although I cannot guarantee it.”

 _Thank Ilúvatar. At least this worry is for nothing._ He had plenty to worry about without the periapts adding to his already overwrought mind.

“I think Faidnil is right,” Elladan piped up from beside the human, drawing him from his thoughts with the return to their earlier conversation.

Elrohir added his own agreement to his twin’s concurrence, saying, “Tell Legolas you are not going to Mirkwood but into the wilds. Let him choose.”

The three brothers looked to their father, whose face was clouding over with a storm of troubled disagreement that portended a lecture of some sort, but before he could begin, the door to the apothecary was pushed open and Glorfindel came within in a hurry. Without greeting, he ignored the brothers and spoke only to Elrond, “As you asked, I escorted Thialid into the valley. He waits in your study for you.”

“Thank you, my friend,” the Peredhel tiredly told the commander of the Imladrian warriors. In that moment, the ancient Noldo looked every one of his years.

 _Thialid has returned?_ Elrond had told them that he expected Thialid’s return any day now, should the advisor not have been delayed. Thialid was nothing like his son, fortunately, and had not agreed with his son’s ways or actions, but he was a loving father who had just lost his only child. _I do not envy Ada’s task now to tell him what has happened to Mithfindl._

Glorfindel was not yet finished. “Erestor has gone to fetch Thranduil to meet with you and Thialid, as well. I told him you might not wish it, but he insisted, saying he knows Thialid better than do the both of us, and saying Thialid would be insulted should the Elvenking not come. He also told me he intends to ask the Prince to join them, if he would.”

The Ranger’s interest was definitely piqued now. _Legolas will speak to Thialid, I am sure of it._ The last thing the grieving Prince needed was to face his tormentor’s father. Reliving the events in their retelling would be bad enough, but should Legolas begin to feel guilty for slaying Mithfindl, then his life would be forfeit – the Adan was certain of this. The Wood-Elf could bear no more encumbrances to his already overburdened faer.

“I think Erestor would know best about Thialid, as he says. Thank you,” the Imladrian Lord said again to his commander. Elrond rubbed roughly at his forehead, anticipating that the task set before him would be a difficult one, which Estel imagined was true. He asked of Glorfindel, “Please go sit with Thialid until I have come. I want to wait until the King shows before I begin so that Thranduil will not see conspiracy in our speaking without his presence.”

Once the commander had nodded and left to do as he had been asked, Elrohir said aloud what Estel had only just been thinking, “Of course, Greenleaf will join them. He will see it as respectful, or as penance.”

“Losing one’s son is terrible enough, I would guess, but to hear why he lost him – to hear what Mithfindl did to earn his death…” Elladan ventured softly, his voice trailing off as he left the rest unsaid.

Estel stood from the bench. He knew he would not be welcome to join the discussion with Thialid, but he would not be left behind. “Come then,” he told his family, walking from the apothecary so he could wait outside the study door for his lover and his lover’s father to show. “Greenleaf will come for this meeting, as you say, and I want to be nearby in case he has need of me.”


	35. Chapter 35

Legolas was asleep for no more than an hour before an insistent knocking at the King’s door roused him. He did not get up from the bed immediately, although he listened to Thranduil invite the visitor within the guest chamber. He also heard his father tell his caller that Legolas was asleep within the bedroom, which caused the voices in the next room to quiet, as if not to wake him, though the Prince also considered that they might be speaking of something about which they did not wish for the laegel to wake to hear. With a stifled grunt, the Prince rolled over onto his side and extended his arms behind him, and then twisted his torso and legs to stretch gently the muscles there, also. He had eaten only a little but already he felt better for it; nonetheless, even now his belly rumbled in hunger, for his ravening appetite was not yet sated.

 _Is that Erestor?_ he asked himself, thinking that he knew the voice of whom it was that had come knocking.

Legolas swung his legs off the mattress, stood from the bed, and then waited for the room to stop spinning from his abrupt actions. He spied the half-eaten bowl of stew upon the table and thought to finish it, cold or not. But when he walked to the table to look at the tray’s contents, the congealing, whitish fat upon the top of the cold-thickened stew made his stomach contract as if in protest of the very sight of food. Normally, Legolas would not balk at something as silly as a little fat gathered at the top of his bowl, but now, the notion of eating the stew was much less attractive. So instead, he picked up the small loaf of bread and began tearing it into pieces, popping them into his mouth one after the other and chewing the bites quickly as he listened to his father, Kalin, and the guest in the other room. Despite his sharp ears and though he could hear what they said, the Wood-Elf did not understand of whom or what they spoke, and his curiosity besting him, the somnolent laegel meandered languidly into the sitting room. As he had thought, none other than his Minyatar’s most valued advisor and one of his closest friends had come calling upon the King – Erestor.

Being that he stood with his back to the door, Erestor saw Legolas before Kalin or Thranduil, and thus stopped his quiet explanation of his purpose, which prevented the Prince from gleaning any information about why the advisor had come. Upon noticing Erestor’s sudden silence and his welcoming smile at the entryway behind them, Thranduil and Kalin both turned to find Legolas standing there, tearing the last bit of bread into pieces.

His King walked to him, an unusual, anxious glower upon his similar, fair features. Thinking that Legolas must have heard and understand of what they spoke, the Elvenking told the Prince, “You should be resting still, ion nin. Do not worry. I will talk to Thialid. You need not be there.”

The dry bread stuck in his mouth and throat, causing him to swallow convulsively to clear it. _Thialid? My luck today cannot grow any worse,_ the young Silvan lamented and coughed into his bent arm when the bread’s delicious flavor turned bitter and felt like sawdust inside his mouth. He suddenly understood why Erestor had come to visit the King. In the woods the day before, Elrond had told them that he had sent word by raven to Lothlórien to Thialid, though the Peredhel had also said Thialid should have already been home and so ought to be on his way back to the valley. Elrond had told them that unless Thialid was delayed or decided to prolong his diplomatic visit to the Golden Wood, Thialid might return at any moment. His Minyatar was right and Thialid not tardy, it seemed. _Thialid’s timing is unfortunately impeccable,_ the Prince regretted, feeling Kalin, his father, and Erestor’s eyes upon him, gauging his reaction to this news. _Had Thialid lingered in Lothlórien just a day longer, we would have already left for Eryn Galen and thus missed Thialid’s homecoming, and I would not need to speak to my rapist’s father to explain to him why I slit his son’s throat._

His King didn’t want him to be privy to this conversation or the one the Elvenking would have with Thialid – this much was clear from how he dismissed Legolas by saying to Kalin, “Take your Prince back to his chambers and see that he rests, and later, see that he eats again.”

Kalin nodded and obediently walked to Legolas to aid him to his room, but the Prince held his hand up to his sentry to stop him, which Kalin did at once. Legolas stepped forward until he was standing beside his father. He faltered on his feet for a moment; behind him, Kalin surreptitiously reached out to steady his Prince with a hand to his lower back. Legolas’ voice did not falter, however, when he insisted, “No, Ada. I wish to hear this, please.”

The Elvenking did not argue. In fact, Legolas thought his father looked pleased to learn his son was not shirking the news, as if the King had thought the mere mention of Thialid or Mithfindl would aggravate Legolas’ grief and now Legolas proved him wrong by wanting to stay. The King turned his satisfied smile to the Prince, beaming at Legolas with what might have been pride.

“Fine, fine,” Thranduil told Thranduilion, ere he came to stand beside Legolas, looping his arm through the younger Elda’s in approbation. To Erestor, the Elf-King asked, “Kalin tells me that only this morning, when he and Legolas were in the courtyard, the Imladrian guards brought Mithfindl’s body back to the vale. Has rumor reached Thialid yet? Does he know already his son is dead?”

“He knows nothing at the moment. Elrond had the border patrol, who were told to remain quiet, on the lookout for his arrival. Once he was seen, word was sent to the House by messenger. Thialid was traveling with families with Elflings and merchants with carts of goods from Lothlórien, so he traveled slowly – much to our benefit. I had Glorfindel meet them on their path in the hopes that rumor would not reach Thialid ere Elrond could speak to him. Despite his son’s actions, Thialid is a gentle soul, a scholar with no love of war or cruelty, and I did not want him to learn of Mithfindl’s demise by gossip,” Erestor told them, giving Legolas a pained, sympathetic smile. Perhaps the advisor thought the Prince would have little compassion for Thialid, but he was wrong if he did assume this. Erestor smoothed his already perfectly straight robes in absentminded, busied motions, “Glorfindel took him to Elrond’s study, where he waits alone while Glorfindel finds Elrond and while I found you. I was not sure,” Erestor then said to Legolas, “if you wished to be part of his finding out about Mithfindl’s fate, but I wanted to ask.”

“Nonsense. I will not have it,” his father told Erestor, giving the advisor his most fierce scowl, as if the very thought of Legolas speaking to Thialid was a travesty – as if Erestor were an idiot for even suggesting such a thing.

Before his King could continue, though, Legolas interrupted, telling Erestor, “I will come. I will speak to him.”

Erestor did not interject his own opinion, but looked between King and Prince, awaiting a definitive answer. The advisor did not want to pick a side between Thranduil and Legolas, though since he had asked Legolas to come to speak with Thialid, the laegel assumed Erestor thought it courteous he do so. Legolas agreed. He was not hiding in his room while others explained the cruelties forced upon him by Mithfindl to Mithfindl’s poor father.

When his own father only stared at him, Legolas added, “I want Thialid to know no grudge or blame is held against him. It is respectful that I be there, if nothing else, while he is told.”

Oddly enough, his father again viewed the laegel with newfound respect, or so it seemed to Legolas. The King then looked to Kalin, who nodded at his sovereign; Legolas saw this and wondered if now his father would seek Kalin’s advice on how to deal with his Prince and his Prince’s grief. And yet, if Thranduil sought counsel on how best to be of aid in Legolas’ recuperation, the Elvenking could find no one better to ask than Kalin, since his sentry always had his Prince’s best interests foremost in mind – thus, Legolas yanked out his sudden irritation at its root, thinking, _I suppose it might be beneficial if Ada holds esteem in Kalin’s opinion – for both Kalin and myself._

“King Thranduil?” Erestor prompted patiently. “Elrond and Thialid will be waiting, and it would be best for you to be present from the start, don’t you think?”

The King’s gaze remained upon Legolas, however, even as with both hands, Thranduil smoothed his long, straight, and unplaited hair back away from his face and tucked it behind his pointed ears. Suddenly, Thranduil reached out to Legolas and did the same for his hair, pushing it off his shoulders and tucking within a braid an errant strand that had escaped its plait. When done, the Elvenking rested his hands upon the Prince’s shoulders and finally said, “Come then. Let us go tell Thialid why his son deserved to die.”

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In the hall outside Elrond’s study, near to its entrance, sat two plain, backless benches. Often, when young, troubled, and troublesome, Aragorn had sat upon these benches in nervous anticipation of a lecture from his foster father. He, Elrohir, Elladan, and Elrond sat upon them now to wait for Thranduil to arrive – perhaps with Legolas, if the Prince felt up to meeting with his debaucher’s father. They sat in silence. Intentionally kept in the dark about the cause for this meeting and likely worried by this secretiveness, Thialid was inside the study, though he was no longer alone since Glorfindel had entered without them to keep Thialid diverted for a while longer. The commander had not and would not mention Mithfindl or any of the happenings relevant to this imminent gathering, but from where they sat, Elrond’s family could hear the commander and advisor making idle chat about the conclusion of Thialid’s business in Lothlórien.

He was unable to keep his legs from jittering. They bounced, jounced, and jostled. Fortuitously, they did not have to wait for long. Estel knew Thranduil approached when the twins and their father all turned towards the stairway located farther down the corridor, past the apothecary’s door. From the landing of the stairwell just below this floor, Thranduil and Legolas soon appeared. They walked arm in arm, the Elvenking not striding as he normally would with his longer legs, but curbing his gait so Legolas could keep up with his father’s pace easily; while not injured, the Wood-Elf Prince was still regaining his endurance and his malnourishment would take more than one bowl of venison stew to improve upon. Aragorn had not seen his lover since slipping into slumber beside him, but even now, Estel discerned that the laegel appeared better. _His skin no longer looks as thin as parchment, although it will take weeks of hearty meals before he gains back the weight his grief and hunger have stripped from him._ Upon seeing how heavily Legolas leant upon his father’s arm while climbing the last of the stairs, he worried immediately, _Faidnil said he nearly passed out and fell down the stairwell, but did he hurt himself somehow when doing so?_

He tried to remain seated upon the bench rather than run towards his lover to ascertain his health, but even from afar, Estel assessed the Wood-Elf for unseen injury. Being that the Adan had feared Legolas might argue with his father about their leaving the valley, Aragorn inspected his lover’s face for sign of bruising, while feeling guilty for doubting the Elvenking’s temper. Legolas showed no signs of his having been involved in a tussle or argument, his clothing was slightly wrinkled from having been slept in but were unstained with blood or dirt, and the Prince did not eschew or appear uncomfortable with his father’s touch, all of which caused Aragorn to conclude, _If the King has told the Prince they are leaving for home, Legolas took it with good grace. Perhaps even he is eager to go home._

Thranduil, the Ranger was unsurprised to note, was as pristine as ever. In fact, the Adan realized, _I have never seen him slovenly save for that night that he was roused from his chambers after I killed Kane._ Those had been strange circumstances, to be sure, and Thranduil’s dishevelment that night was understandable.

Aragorn’s forbearance ran out completely and he could wait no more for his lover’s arrival; the Adan rose from the bench and jogged to where Legolas and Thranduil ambled slowly towards them, with Kalin behind the two. The sentry’s eyes were ever upon his Prince, as though the sentry was fearful Legolas might fall. Now that they walked the even plane of the corridor, Legolas was no longer focused upon his feet to watch his step; the laegel lifted his head and straightaway smiled upon noticing the Ranger trotting his way.

He needed to speak to Legolas. He needed to ask the Elf about nearly fainting upon the stairs. He needed to know the Prince had eaten. Most of all, Estel needed to tell Legolas he was not going to Mirkwood with him. And he would have to wait. As much as it pained him, he would have to wait. Aragorn had not even been able to wait for the Prince to walk down the hall – having to wait until the Mirkwood royalty and his foster father were finished speaking to Thialid would be torturous for the young Adan.

The Ranger gave Thranduil and Kalin a nod of greeting but saved his words for the Prince, telling Legolas in breathless, cheerful relief to see the Elf smiling, “Good morning, meleth nin.”

“Good morning to you, kaimamoroko,” his lover teased in return of the human having slept longer than had he slumbered.

“Kaimamoroko?” the Elf-King asked mockingly. He had no knowledge of the King’s earlier rant against him for not seeing that Legolas ate, for not being with the Prince when he nearly fainted, so did not understand why Legolas looked to his father with sudden apprehension. But then, with a sardonic chuckle, Thranduil extricated his arm from the Prince’s arm and then motioned for Estel to take his place, thus leaving Aragorn to aid Legolas the rest of the way down the hall, while saying, “That is a fitting appellation for you, I think, Estel.”

Legolas gladly allowed Aragorn to insinuate an arm around his waist, where the human clasped tightly to the opposite side of the Prince’s lower torso. Thranduil walked on without them; using this opportunity, Estel slowed walking and squeezed his lover’s hip in hand, inciting Legolas to look to him. Not needing to speak to ask the Wood-Elf but merely giving the laegel a questioning, raised eyebrow, Aragorn was soon relieved of his own uneasiness when the Prince only smiled lovingly and shook his head in answer.

By then, they were near to the entrance to Elrond’s study, where the Imladrian Lord and his twin sons stood. The Peredhel told the Silvan Prince in barely more than a whisper, “You do not need to do this, Greenleaf, if you do not wish. Thialid does not know what this is about yet, but he will not begrudge you for not being present – not once he knows. You owe him no explanation, no apology.”

“I do need to do this,” the young Prince argued back just as quietly and pulled his arm free of Estel’s arm. Taking a step closer to the door, Legolas repeated, “I owe him my presence, if nothing else. And I want to do this.”

They all stared at Legolas – Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Kalin, Thranduil, and now even Erestor, who had just arrived, having trailed far behind the King, Prince, and sentry. Only Estel could not see the resolve upon the Wood-Elf’s face, for he stood beside rather than in front of Legolas; and yet, he could sense his lover’s determination. The Ranger had no say in whether the Prince participated in this discussion, but he knew the Eldar around him feared a retelling of the events to Thialid might only aggravate Legolas’ sorrow. However, he also knew none would dare stop Legolas if he wished to be present. For his part, Estel could not help hoping, _Perhaps it will be good for Greenleaf to face Thialid. Certainly, Thialid will not blame Legolas for what he has done, and once knowing this, the encumbrance of killing one of his own kind will be disburdened from Greenleaf._

Swayed by the Prince’s resolve, Elrond smiled in acceptance and opened the door to his study. He then held his arm out in invitation. Kalin, the twins, and Estel would remain in the hallway. “Then let us come. We ought not to keep Thialid waiting any longer.”

Before his Elven lover walked in behind Erestor, his father, and Elrond, Aragorn placed a hand upon Legolas’ lower back to garner his attention. When the Silvan turned to him, Estel stepped forward until his front was pressed against the Elf’s side. He leant in and placed a quick buss upon Legolas’ cheek, ere he tried to step away; and yet, the Prince caught the front of Aragorn’s shirt. Pulling Estel closer to him by this hold, Legolas mashed his lips squarely upon Estel’s mouth in a vigorous, thorough kiss. Taken off his guard by the Elf’s sudden ardor, Aragorn barely had time to return the kiss ere the Elf pulled away. Once doing so, though, Legolas lingered close to Aragorn, their lips no longer touching but close enough that the human could feel the Elf’s warm exhalations and smell the peppermint tea upon Legolas’ breath. Indeed, when he stepped back far enough for Aragorn to see the laegel’s beautiful face, he saw in Legolas’ eyes the same unconditional love that always resided there, but also in their depths such blatant fear that the Ranger’s heart missed a beat.

 _How can I let him go to Mirkwood alone?_ he agonized, watching as Legolas followed the others into the study. Elrond shut the thick door once Legolas was within, but not before he shared his delight at seeing the Prince’s manifest affection for his Adan foster son. Aragorn stood there and stared at the closed portal for a moment until he remembered his brothers and Kalin were in the corridor with him and likely were wondering why he stood staring at the door.

“I see Greenleaf is feeling better,” Elrohir commented wryly, giving the human a nudge to the side when finally Aragorn sat upon the bench between the twin Noldorin brothers.

Elrohir snickered at his twin’s insinuation; with a devious smirk and a nudge with his elbow to Aragorn’s other side, Elrohir seemed to be about to make a ribald joke – much to Estel’s aggravation, as he was not fond of his brothers speaking as such in front of Legolas’ protective sentry.

“After this morning, I am surprised he is,” the sentry interposed, seemingly unaware of the bawdy undercurrent to Elladan and Elrohir’s banter. Kalin paced to the opposite side of the corridor and back, while wringing his hands in front of him. Their mischievousness forgotten, the twins quieted and scrutinized the sentry. If Kalin felt something was amiss with his Prince, in all likelihood, the sentry was right of it.

“And why is that, Kalin?” the Ranger asked straightway. If something were wrong with Legolas, the human would know of it at once.

“My Prince and I went walking in the courtyard at dawn. The Imladrian guards returned with Mithfindl’s body while we were sitting outside, enjoying the sunshine,” Kalin told them. The Silvan paced back to the far wall and then stared out the window to the very courtyard of which he spoke. Wringing his hands so punitively that they were beginning to turn rubicund from the hard chafing, Kalin began his pacing anew by walking to the three brothers. “I asked him to come inside with me, but Legolas insisted upon viewing Mithfindl’s body.”

Aragorn knew why his lover wanted to see Mithfindl’s body – Legolas had wanted to imprint upon his mind the image of the Noldo’s corpse, to know forever that Mithfindl could hurt him no more, and that he was the one to have slain the warrior.

“A small crowd gathered around to ask who had died and why. No offense meant to your kith,” Kalin insisted to Elladan and Elrohir as he strode once again back to the windowed side of the corridor, “but I feared their questions might lead to their haranguing Legolas. One of the guards asked me quietly why my Prince did not bring Mithfindl back to Elrond, and not so quietly and hoping to end their interrogation before it began, I replied that he killed Mithfindl to save Estel’s life.”

 _Kalin is Greenleaf’s staunchest protector,_ the Ranger declared to himself favorably. He was not the only one who had worried about how the Imladrians would treat the Prince once hearing he had killed one of their own; Kalin had ensured with his selective recitation of the truth that all in the valley would know that in the end, Legolas had killed Mithfindl not for revenge but to save Aragorn’s life.

“No offense is taken. And that was wise of you and much appreciated – by Greenleaf, as well, I would assume,” the elder twin assured Kalin, though the younger twin then had to ask, “Or was Greenleaf angered by this? You deflected their suspicion for him quite nicely, I think.”

Kalin had yet to tell them why his worry for his Prince had grown despite that Legolas seemed well enough this morning; or at least, better than they might have expected after all through which the Prince had lived this past fortnight. “He was pleased, I think, or so he said. No, he was fine until we began up the steps.”

Confused, lest Kalin was worried over Legolas’ rhaw rather than his faer, Estel countered, “Faidnil told me Greenleaf nearly passed out from hunger. He has eaten now, so he should be well, though, of course, he needs to eat again soon.”

“It wasn’t hunger that caused him to stumble – it was despair. I felt his despair,” the sentry whispered, coming closer to them as though to keep this quiet from eavesdroppers. Few came to this part of the house except when invited unless they were family – not even the servants except for the apothecary’s herbalist and Elrond’s personal attendant – so there was no one to overhear. “We were joking. He told me he would teach me to pull pranks, now that I was part of your family. I said it would have to wait until when we one day returned to the valley, since we were going home. I realize now he must not have known of this because he was surprised, but he was even more staggered when I mentioned you might not be coming with us, Estel,” the Silvan sentry told the Adan, adding regretfully, “I thought he knew already, else I would have said nothing and given you the chance to speak to him first. I am sorry. Since then, I have not been able to speak to my Prince alone so cannot say for certain, but I see no other cause for his sorrow than fear you will not accompany us, Estel.”

The human’s chest thrummed painfully as his heart began to hammer hostilely. He leant forward in his seat and looked down to the floor between his feet in hopes of steadying his rapid breathing. Elladan and Elrohir were looking to each other behind the Ranger’s bent back, some perspicuity passing between them that the Ranger did not notice, so caught up was he in his self-recriminations.

“Kalin,” a voice came from down the hall, from where Ninan was approaching. “I need to speak to you of tomorrow’s journey. The King said you would be planning our path home.”

“Excuse me a moment,” the sentry apologized and without another word, Kalin left them at a near trot so he could speak to the captain of the Silvan guard.

From Kalin’s story, the Ranger understood, _Upon hearing that I may not accompany them to Mirkwood, Greenleaf was overcome with sorrow; so much sorrow, in fact, that he had to be carried to his father’s rooms?_ This was not the entire truth of the matter, being that starvation had played a large role in Legolas’ lightheadedness from earlier, but the human didn’t know this and so could only conclude, _Do I still think it best to let him go to Mirkwood alone? It is too early to leave him with only Kalin and his father for comfort._

Aragorn stood from the bench. After watching Kalin pace and hearing his worries for Legolas, the Ranger’s nerves were worn thin and impatience was inflaming his own desire to move around, and so he took to pacing the same path Kalin had used – to the windows and then to the bench where his twin brothers sat. After a few moments, the human even began wringing his hands. 


	36. Chapter 36

In walking to the main area of his Minyatar’s study, where the Peredhel’s desk sat, Legolas lingered behind the others. His trepidation overwhelmed his desire to see this done and he nearly slipped back to the entrance and out of it. Only the thought of his father kept him from doing so, for the laegel knew the pride his King had shown upon learning that his son wanted to be part of this meeting would turn to ireful shame should Legolas abscond from it without even giving an excuse. As they approached where Glorfindel and Thialid sat, speaking companionably about the advisor’s business in Lothlórien, Legolas hurried to catch up to the others. _I am the one who insisted upon attending,_ he chastised himself. Elrond and the others would not hold it against him for his absence but Thranduil would and the Prince would not disgrace his father.

Elrond walked behind his massive, chaotically organized desk. Thialid was already seated directly in front of it with Glorfindel in the chair beside him, but when the commander saw that Erestor, Thranduil, and Legolas had come with Elrond, he knew the meeting would commence and so rose, leaving off midsentence of whatever he was saying, and walked to a bookcase behind Elrond, which he rested his back against to watch unobtrusively. Thialid already knew of Mithfindl’s actions in the forest during the spring. After its occurrence, Elrond and Erestor had deemed it wise to tell Thialid so that the father could aid the son before Mithfindl’s waywardness escalated. Perhaps it was this the advisor thought of when he rose from his seat to greet the King and Prince of Mirkwood, for his face both blanched and blenched and he began to pluck at his travel worn, dusty clothing in agitation, bowing slightly in deference to his Lord’s esteemed guests while saying nothing in greeting. With all of his being, Legolas wished this gathering were only about that afternoon months ago when Mithfindl had accosted him in the forest.

“Please, sit,” Elrond told them all as he took his chair.

Only Thranduil, Elrond, and Thialid sat, however. Erestor walked to where Glorfindel stood and rested his back upon the bookcase right beside the commander, seeking comfort from his lover just by his nearness. Legolas stood beside his father’s chair, his hand holding so tightly to the high back of it that his fingers grew numb with the effort. Being that he still had trouble standing and keeping his balance because of his malnutrition, he ought to have sat, but the only other chair available was on the opposite side of Thialid and he did not wish to be so near to his attacker’s father.

“Mithfindl is dead, isn’t he?” Thialid asked before Elrond could begin.

 _How could he know that?_ the laegel asked himself, but then thought, _We all gather here without Mithfindl present, so I suppose it is an easy surmise. Or perhaps Thialid can feel his son’s faer is missing from this world._ The reminder of the grief Thialid would feel over Mithfindl’s death only served to heighten the laegel’s sorrow. Even after all the Noldorin warrior had done to him; even after trying to force him to kill Estel; and even in the pit, when knowing he would die in the foul water either from starvation, the poppy milk, or by choice with the dissolution of his faer from rhaw, Legolas had felt pity for Mithfindl. He had never wanted any of this.

“Yes,” the Peredhel admitted gently. Elrond scooted forward in his chair, acting as if he would rather be sitting near to Thialid to offer him succor. But still, the Noldo did not mince his words in telling Thialid, “I am sorry to bear this bad news, but yes, your son is dead.”

Thialid did not speak, he did not move, and from what Legolas could tell, he did not even seem to breathe for several minutes – nor did anyone else speak or move while they allowed this horrid news to sink in. Finally, Thialid asked, “How? How did he die?”

Elrond leant forward and placed his folded arms upon his desk, as though to get closer to Thialid. “It is a complicated story, all of which I will tell you, should you wish the details, but the short of it is this: Mithfindl plotted with the livestock healer, Faelthîr, to better their positions by seeking favor in Mirkwood. In doing so, both Faelthîr and Mithfindl committed vile deeds. Together, they plotted to drug and gain control over King Thranduil, to manipulate his rational mind for their benefit. But as you know,” the Peredhel explained kindheartedly, without judgment for either Thialid or his son, “Mithfindl hated Estel and Legolas and sought revenge against them for Estel’s pummeling of him on the training fields, though he has always despised Estel and never cared for the Silvan or their Prince, but loathed Legolas evermore so after Legolas declined his advances. That Legolas and Estel became lovers only cemented Mithfindl’s abhorrence for them.”

Thialid was listening but did not interrupt. Elrond looked to Legolas, his discomfort to have the Wood-Elf present for this was clear upon his face, though it did not stop him from eluding, “From what we have learnt, Mithfindl lost sight of their plan when the opportunity arose to enthrall the Prince’s mind, as well, which he did, and is how he was able to torment Prince Legolas most cruelly. When eventually their schemes were exposed and their methods discovered, Mithfindl fled into the Trollshaws, leaving Faelthîr behind. During the search for Mithfindl, he became the hunter rather than the hunted and sought Legolas and Estel to complete his revenge. He injured the Prince severely and tried to kill Estel. It was during this attempt that the Prince slew Mithfindl,” the Peredhel tried to explain, assuring Thialid, “In killing Mithfindl, Legolas saved my Estel’s life.”

 _He and Kalin tell the same tale,_ the Prince cogitated of his Minyatar’s explanation, which while true, did not explicate the minutiae of the story – just as had Kalin’s revelation to the Noldor in the courtyard. _While the rest of Imladris will hopefully not hear all of the details, Thialid will likely learn every single detail. As well he should, I suppose,_ Legolas understood, his grip upon the back of his Ada’s chair tightening until his fingers felt like they might snap from the effort, _as should anyone want to know when their son has been slaughtered like a cow at the butcher’s block._

“I knew. I knew how much his anger for the Prince and Estel ate at him but I could do nothing to moderate it,” the silver-haired advisor bemoaned and covered his face with his hands. “This is my fault. After hearing how he accosted the Prince in the woods this spring,” he railed at himself, as if the Prince in question or the others were not there listening, “I told Mithfindl he ought to sail. I told him I would never petition to have him taken into apprenticeship unless he proved worthy of it. I am the cause for his desperation. And yet, I do not understand. What has he done? What plots did he make with Faelthîr to gain position in Mirkwood?”

Feeling pity for Thialid, as he knew better than most that one’s progeny could not be controlled or dissuaded from his or her chosen course, Thranduil took it upon himself to relate the details of what had occurred – Legolas could see Elrond’s frustration as Thranduil began to speak since the Peredhel had been hoping to avoid rehashing the Prince’s torment while Legolas was present. The King said, “You could not possibly have known to what lengths he would go for position or betterment of his circumstances. Do not blame yourself,” Thranduil told Thialid kindly. The advisor was listening to the King but could not seem to look at him. “But I would not have you think your son’s life was taken lightly. Legolas had good cause for it even before Mithfindl tried to kill Estel. Your son drugged me into an unnatural sleep. He drugged my son, as well, repeatedly. He placed imprecated periapts upon us to try to control our minds. Mithfindl beat Legolas nearly to death – twice – and defiled him brutally – twice – using the periapt’s absolute sway over Legolas’ mind to subdue him and to convince him it was Estel who perpetrated these grievous acts against him. This nearly caused Legolas’ sentry to murder Estel in defense of his Prince when he found out. This has nearly caused my son’s faer to flee to the comfort of Námo’s realm from the excruciation of both his rhaw and of his faer, for he thought his lover had turned against him, which was part of Mithfindl’s revised plan for exacting revenge against the two of them.”

Upon hearing this, Thialid’s hands fell from his face and he looked up sharply – though not to Thranduil, who told him these things, but to Elrond, from whom he sought affirmation of the veracity of the Elvenking’s claims. When Elrond nodded gloomily, Thialid let loose a low moan of despair at his progeny’s actions. The advisor – still wearing the dusty, stained clothes he had worn while travelling, his silver hair a wind-whipped mess, and having not even been given the chance to wash his hands or face free of the dust of travel – bent over at the waist and covered his visage again. Giving another plaintive groan, the advisor murmured in discontent, “The rest I can believe, Elrond, but what darkness overtook him to dishonor a fellow Elf as such?”

Shaking his head, Elrond no more knew what had given way in Mithfindl’s mind to turn him against his own kind than did anyone else. Legolas felt sorry for Thialid. He did not know the advisor but felt a growing compassion for him nonetheless – as did they all, it seemed, for Erestor stepped forward to go to Thialid to comfort him, though Glorfindel reached out to take his dark-haired lover’s hand to keep him from interfering for now, and thus caused Erestor to step back, where the two remained hand in hand. Likely, being that Thialid was a dear friend to Erestor, the advisor knew of Erestor and Glorfindel’s clandestine love affair, but the Prince distractedly wondered why they did not conceal their affection in front of Thranduil.

Clearly, the advisor had said ‘dishonor’ because he had not wanted to be blunt with Legolas present; likely, he had also not wanted to say aloud the vile acts his son had committed, as if by omission he might lessen their harm. Thranduil must have realized this along with the rest of them but sugarcoating was not the Elvenking’s way. He would not let Thialid reduce the Prince’s torment to a mere ‘dishonoring.’ Before the Silvan Prince, his King shifted in agitation at the advisor’s choice of words and told Thialid brusquely, “He did not _dishonor_ him. Your son tied my son, thrashed him severely, and then raped him brutally… and then, the next day, he repeated this, though the second time he beat Legolas so viciously that Legolas would have died had not Elrond intervened with vilya’s restorative powers.”

Elrond watched Thialid closely, sparing only a moment to give the Elvenking a pleading look in the effort to quiet him, and then looking to Legolas as if to ascertain that the Prince was not suffering from having his secrets callously exposed. He could not withstand his Minyatar’s doleful worry and so focused upon the back of his father’s head so he would not have to observe Elrond’s anxiety for him. It was only by sheer will that the Prince managed to stand there quietly; if anyone so much as asked him if he were well, Legolas’ detachment would fail, he knew.

Despite his own compassion for Thialid and heedless of Elrond’s effort to silence him, Thranduil continued in clipped, succinct elucidation, “Just as Elrond has said, when Mithfindl’s plan was discovered, he fled, leaving his accomplice behind, but not before using the periapt to force Legolas to try to kill Estel. Luckily, my son’s love for the Ranger kept him from succeeding, for none of us would have been quick enough to stop him. And when the stone was removed and vilya used to ease Legolas’ mortal wounds, when my son’s mind was his own again, he went after Mithfindl to avenge your son’s attempt to enthrall his King and kill the Ranger. Not healed completely and his faer suffering, Legolas was bested by Mithfindl, beaten savagely, and nearly despoilt for a third time.”

It was all too much, too fast for Thialid to take in – Legolas could tell. Thialid was shaking his head slightly in disbelief and refusing to look up from the floor. Plainly, it was hard for Thialid to imagine that the son whom he loved, whom he had once held as a babe, taught to read and write and sum, whom he had fed, clothed, and adored despite his ill tempers, could have been capable of this ruthlessness. Finding it hard to witness Thialid’s grief, Legolas turned away, which is when he saw that both Glorfindel and Erestor watched him with unconcealed anxiety for his welfare. After all, Thranduil was causing Legolas to relive every dire moment of some of the most horrific days in the Prince’s life. He couldn’t bear to see their concern, either, and so looked to the tiles underfoot just like Thialid.

“But Legolas escaped, and he and Estel encountered Mithfindl shortly thereafter, where Mithfindl shot my son with an arrow and yet again attempted to defile him while Legolas was bleeding to death from injury; Mithfindl wished to torment Estel by forcing him to watch Legolas’ debasement. When Estel tried to protect Legolas, Mithfindl attempted kill the Ranger. Luckily for Elrond, myself, and Estel, what ought to have been a fatal arrow wound to the chest could not keep my son from protecting his lover and he slit Mithfindl’s throat before Mithfindl could open the Ranger’s belly,” the King concluded. None of this was said with vindictiveness, pettiness, or accusation. No, Thranduil merely stated the facts as he knew them; in fact, he had done a fair job of it, as well.

After several long moments of gravid silence, Legolas looked up. From the open terraces that ran along both sides of the study, shafts of bright sunlight meandered through to where they sat, passing in between books and items upon the shelves and between leaves and blossoms of the plants growing everywhere along the terrace’s trenched pots. A strange mosaic was dancing across the ceiling – distracting himself by watching it, Legolas wondered at what was causing the reflection of this leaf-green array, until he followed the reflections of light to their source – the sunlight was reflecting off the broken glass marble that had once been his as a child, one that Aragorn had broken by accident months ago. The shards sat upon a plate on a shelf nearby; the sunlight was bouncing off the shards and throwing askance the gamboling green smirches upon the ceiling. Legolas had the sudden urge to take in his palm those sharp glass shards and squeeze until each and every piece was embedded in his flesh.

 _I wonder why Minyatar has kept them,_ he marveled in mild interest.

A noisy sob drew his attention away from this and back to those around him. Glorfindel and Erestor still watched Legolas, waiting for some sign his faer was under duress; Elrond divided his attention between glaring at Thranduil for usurping his task and keeping an eye on Thialid. Much to Legolas’ surprise, Thranduil had his arm out to Thialid, his hand lightly upon the advisor’s shoulder to offer a modicum of comfort. The Elvenking spoke, “I have told you all this in the hope you will understand that in the end, Mithfindl’s life was not taken thoughtlessly or without cause… or even for revenge, though Legolas certainly had cause for it. It makes it no easier to bear your son’s death, I know, but he was a grown Elf who chose poorly. He had to pay the price for those choices, none of which was your fault.”

The ire upon Elrond’s face dimmed; Legolas watched his Minyatar give the Elvenking a fleeting, sad smile of appreciation for his kind words to Thialid. Mindless of anything but the growing ache in his chest, Legolas slid his hand over the center of his torso under the watchful eyes of Erestor and Glorfindel. _I should not have come,_ he told himself again, his pang of grief becoming a piercing ache that did not cease with his milling of the scant flesh above where his heart skittered rapidly. Even when he turned his gaze back to the floor, he could feel Erestor and Glorfindel’s regard, which only amplified his awareness of how he was the cause of all this suffering. _I should not have come for this._

He looked up, however, when Thialid stood from his chair and stepped before Thranduil. At once, Legolas forgot his sorrow and tensed in anticipation of something ill occurring. No, he didn’t know Thialid but being that Erestor and Elrond held the advisor in their esteem, Legolas had not considered if Thialid might became vindictively violent over hearing what had become of his son. However, when with his hands clenched into fists the silver-haired Noldo stopped before the seated Elvenking, Legolas forgot his sorrow and thought only of protecting his father, who sat insouciantly viewing Thialid.

Legolas needn’t have worried. Thialid was a stately Elf; older than was Elrond, the councilor was as ageless as most of the Firstborn. In that moment, with tears in his eyes, standing before where Thranduil sat, and his head bowed in deference to the Elf-King, Thialid looked every bit as old as he was, for his face was drawn and haggard, his mouth turned down, and his hoary hair – the same shade as Mithfindl’s hair had been – made him appear much older than he might otherwise have seemed. Needlessly, Thialid offered his apologies, saying to Thranduil, “I am sorry for my son’s actions. He has – ” the Noldo began before realizing that he spoke of Mithfindl as though he still lived. Thialid clasped his hands in front of him to still their shaking and amended, “He was always a willful, greedy child, caring more for prestige and power than for goodness. I never would have thought him to act as he had. There is nothing I can say or do to fix the damage he has caused, but if you would have something of me in remuneration, then it is yours.”

Truly, Legolas was the one who was most harmed by Mithfindl. While the Elvenking had been harmed only in the lightest of ways, since the periapt upon Thranduil had never been employed, Thialid offered his apologies to the King because Legolas was Thranduil’s son and subject. Legolas did not care. He came here to listen to Thialid, to speak to him if he must, but now, the Prince wanted nothing more than to leave before Thialid said a word to him. He wasn’t sure he could maintain his composure in front of the grieving father of his tormentor. The ache within his chest was beginning to dim his vision and he thought only of how to end it. His death seemed the only culmination to his torment but he had promised Estel time – time that the Ranger intended to use to remind Legolas of the joy of life. Right now, the Wood-Elf was certain he would never again know joy – not with Thialid’s sorrowed face forever emblazoned within his weary mind.

Thranduil was accustomed to such assumed arrogation over every aspect of the lives of his people and especially his son – this arrogation had been the cause of discord between son and sire over the course of Legolas’ adult life. Unpredictably, though, Thranduil told the councilor, “Legolas is the one who deserves the apology, but not from you, Thialid.” The Elf-King adjusted himself in his chair. Even in the simple chair in which he sat in front of Elrond’s desk, Thranduil somehow made it appear as if he were sitting upon his throne in the great room of his own halls. “As I said, you are not responsible for the actions of your son and Mithfindl paid the only price required for his misdeeds.”

With a thankfulness that made the Prince feel sick to see, for it portended that Thialid had thought Thranduil would ask from him recompense or some other form of justice for what his son had done, the councilor gave the King a grateful, dolorous smile. And yet, when Thialid turned to Legolas, the smile vanished from his face. _Does he hate me for killing his son? I did not even kill Mithfindl for revenge, as I set out to do – I killed him to save Estel._ The Wood-Elf considered that perhaps Thialid thought Legolas might have captured Mithfindl or just let him flee, as if such a solution would be acceptable. When Thialid looked down to where Legolas’ hand was clenched in the cloth in the middle of his chest, Legolas had the sudden fear, _Perhaps he would rather I die now, as reparation for the loss of his own son. Would that be a fair trade to him?_

No one spoke. In the chair in front of him, his father shifted uncomfortably; in his own seat at his desk, Elrond leant to the side so he could see around Thialid to view Legolas’ face, to gauge how the Wood-Elf was faring; and at the bookcase, still hand in hand and side by side, Erestor and Glorfindel also watched the Prince. He was suddenly sure they could all feel his mounting despair and so tried to dampen the rising grief within himself. 

Just when the silence became uncomfortably long and the Silvan Prince began to think he ought to apologize for slaughtering Mithfindl rather than bringing him to valley, or perhaps try to explain himself to Thialid that he had no choice in the end but to kill his son, Thialid finally spoke to Legolas. With a chastened face, the councilor told him, “I would give my life to reverse what my son has done to you. But since I cannot change his actions, if in taking Mithfindl’s life you have found some relief, then I am glad of it.”

Legolas did not know what to say to this. The Silvan knew Thialid must be in agony over his loss. He had a notion that it might be kind to offer solace to the councilor in some way but the laegel could not find suitable words to acknowledge Thialid’s statement. Finally, Legolas managed to reply, “I would give my own life in trade if it meant none of this had happened, my father never poisoned and Estel never injured, and for Mithfindl to live still. But what is done is done,” he told the Noldo quietly. “To protect Estel’s life, I would have and will do anything. I could not suffer Mithfindl to live knowing his living kept Estel in danger. I regret it came to this end, I promise you, but you are right – I have found relief in killing him,” he admitted to the Noldorin advisor, though why he said this, he wasn’t sure, except killing Mithfindl weighed heavily upon the Prince’s heart and he hoped for some absolution from Thialid for having done it.

He could not tell from how Thialid looked at him if he had assuaged the Noldo’s grief or not, for Thialid’s face grew hard and his mouth set into a thin line. When the advisor’s silent tears began anew, the Prince hoped it was just Thialid’s attempt not to weep that caused him to look upon Legolas with such fervid adamancy.

“Thialid,” the Peredhel prompted the silver-haired Noldo, who reluctantly turned around to face Elrond. His Minyatar could tell Legolas was floundering and did not like the way in which the Prince was reacting to their conversation. As the Silvan feared, the Eldar in the room could perceive Legolas’ swelling desolation and Elrond wanted to soothe it however he could, while hopefully helping Thialid cope with his grief, as well. The Peredhel assured his advisor, “No one takes any pleasure in Mithfindl’s death, least of all Greenleaf, but his demise was necessary. Mithfindl was too crazed with hate and lust for Legolas’ suffering and for Estel’s death that had he been captured alive, we would never have been able to trust Mithfindl not to act upon them again. He was like a wounded animal, Thialid, with no hope of recovery, who lashes out at any who comes near. In death, in the Halls of Awaiting, he will find peace, I hope.”

Weeping soundlessly, Thialid nodded appreciatively at Elrond’s justification. The Prince moved closer to his King’s chair and thus away from where Thialid stood. He felt like an Elfling hiding behind his father, but being so near to Thialid – who looked and sounded so much like Mithfindl that the two could have been brothers rather than father and son – was too much for him. For the Prince, it was like seeing what Mithfindl might have looked like had he lived to the same age as Thialid, had Legolas not slit Mithfindl’s throat and ended his immortal life. Without thinking of whether his father would be aggravated by his doing so, the Prince slipped a hand over the back of the chair and laid it upon Thranduil’s shoulder, seeking the ease this small touch would bring. In response and without irritation for his son to show even this trifling weakness in front of the others, the Elvenking took hold of the Prince’s hand with his own to give it a consoling squeeze.

“What of Faelthîr?” the councilor asked Elrond as he walked to stand in front of his Lord’s desk. Thialid hesitated a moment, his mouth opening and then closing as he thought better of what he was about to say, but then he said it anyway, telling them, “My son has created enough misery. I would not wish Faelthîr to be punished harshly because Mithfindl has led her astray from virtue. Surely she is not as far gone as he was, requiring the same toll as Mithfindl?”

Although Legolas knew Faelthîr had been the mastermind behind her and Mithfindl’s plotting, he still did not disavow anyone of their belief that Mithfindl had talked the Elleth into acting as she had. He no more wanted the livestock healer to undergo harsh punishment than did Thialid. The Wood-Elf Prince intended to speak before his father could, as he could tell from the sudden, indomitable set of his King’s shoulders that Thranduil would be pacified by nothing less than Faelthîr’s demise. Quickly, Legolas agreed with Thialid, suggesting, “I have no desire for her to be penalized without mercy. Although she certainly had some part in aiding Mithfindl in trying to enthrall my King, the wrongs she committed were truly against Kalin and I, and neither of us wishes to see her meet the same fate as Mithfindl. Perhaps it would be best if she sailed – if she is willing. In Valinor, the taint upon her faer may heal.”

Even though he had no idea whom Kalin was or what part Kalin had in this and did not ask of it,  Thialid gave the Prince an indebted, tearful smile of appreciation for Legolas’ proposal and was eager to offer to Elrond, “She can accompany me to the Havens. I will be responsible for her until she reaches Valinor.”

“You intend to sail?” Elrond asked and sat back in his chair. The Peredhel was surprised at this news, for Thialid had never before made mention of wanting to cross the sea. “When do you plan to leave?”

“It has been upon my mind for years, Elrond.” Thialid staggered back to his chair and fell into it as if his legs were too tired to hold him. “When I tried to convince Mithfindl to sail, I told him we would go together. Only my love for him and my desire to remain to steer him from trouble has kept me this side of the Sundering Seas. Now that he is gone…” the Noldo began but did not finish. Once more, Thialid sat in his chair with his hands covering his face, his shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his lean frame. “As soon as is feasible, my Lord. As soon as can be arranged.”

“Then I will accede to your and the Prince’s wishes and allow her to sail with you,” the Peredhel granted willingly enough. Before this meeting, Elrond had not decided what to do with Faelthîr but had known Thranduil wanted her life forfeited for her actions; the Peredhel was ostensibly relieved they had a reasonable alternative to the Elvenking’s desire for Faelthîr’s death.

The Prince’s hand was abruptly released, causing the laegel to remove it from his father’s shoulder. Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest but did not argue against Elrond’s decision. Legolas thought his King might now be cross with him for asking for leniency for Faelthîr, but the Prince would endure his King’s ire if it saved the Elleth’s life. Legolas watched as his Minyatar turned to Erestor. Without needing to be told, the commander and advisor moved to Thialid – one on either side of him – and aided him into standing. The Noldo did not argue or ask what they were doing, but only stood and began walking with them submissively.

As Glorfindel and Erestor began to lead Thialid from the room, where they would take him to his rooms and answer any other questions he might have, and likely also see to arrangements for his journey to the Grey Havens, Elrond reminded the silver-haired Noldo, “Find me if you have need, Thialid.”

Although Thialid nodded, he did not turn around or speak to them again. It would be the last time Legolas ever saw Mithfindl’s father. Again, the Prince began absently rubbing at his chest. Upon his waking this morning, he had felt fine – more than fine, actually. Now, his grief was as acute as ever it had been. His Minyatar knew this and so asked of him, “Come to me, Greenleaf, please.”

Obediently, the young Silvan did as the Peredhel bid him and walked to the front of the Noldo’s desk; however, Elrond stood and held his arms out, which then caused Legolas to walk around the desk to reach his loving Minyatar. He stepped into the elder’s embrace gladly, returning the fierce hug and laying his head down upon Elrond’s collar. “You were kind to him when you did not need to be, Greenleaf. Thank you for that. I thank both of you,” the Peredhel corrected, saying to Thranduil, “for your understanding. Thialid needn’t grieve for Mithfindl’s illness of faer, just as neither of you should have suffered for it.”

The gloomy hesitancy his Minyatar had been showing him was gone for the nonce, for it seemed the Noldo wished to use this private moment to say to Legolas what he might not have the chance to tell him amidst others upon the Silvan and their King’s leaving on the morrow. Elrond stood back from Legolas to look into his face, which he then caressed with one hand before pulling the Wood-Elf back to him, his embrace stiflingly tight but welcome all the same.

“I will miss you, Greenleaf,” the elder Elf told the younger, whilst encircling with his limbs the Prince’s slighter body against his own taller, sturdier frame. He buried his face into the taller Elda’s upper chest and hugged the Noldo back just as firmly as Elrond did him. “By the Valar, I will miss you when you leave. I love you, ion nin. Do not forget that. We all love you. And with great anticipation do I await your return to us.”

“Thank you, Minyatar. Thank you for all you have done for me,” he said in return, his voice muffled against the Noldo’s robe.

To his own ears, his words sounded like a last goodbye. In truth, the Prince might well be saying a final farewell. He had no idea whether he would ever see Elrond again – as was true any time he left Imladris, even while always meaning to return one day to his second family – somehow, at this moment, with his grief having ebbed upon his waking but now flowing like the sea’s tides that lapped and eroded the malleable, sandy shore, Legolas wondered if he would survive to return to Imladris.

When finally Elrond felt that Legolas’ wounded faer was appeased enough for now and his sorrow bettered as much as possible with his mere presence, he released the laegel and stood back. “You need more food and rest,” the master healer instructed him with a lovingly paternal smile. “I am certain that Estel is outside waiting for you, as is Kalin, and I will tell them both to keep you abed and fed today to be well for tomorrow’s journey, Greenleaf. I will see to it the kitchens send with your people all your favorite foods so you have no excuse not to eat during your journey home, but promise me you will eat plenty today.”

“I will,” he vowed, his Minyatar’s affection already making him feel better about the harrowing meeting with Thialid.

His arm around Legolas’ shoulders, Elrond led the Prince around the desk and to the King, who had stood from his chair to watch with barely concealed envy the easy, affectionate exchange between his son and the Peredhel. To Elrond, the Elvenking hesitated a moment in indecision before showing his gratitude. “Thank you for your hospitality, Elrond. It was too long since last I came to the vale. Despite what has happened, I do not regret coming here. Perhaps you will do me the honor of coming to the Greenwood, where I can repay your hospitality in kind.”

“Of course,” his Minyatar told his father. Whereas upon Thranduil’s arrival the two had been standoffish and polite, the friendship Elrond and Thranduil once shared was renewed, for even if they did not share the same opinions they respected the other immensely. “And you are always welcome in the Last Homely House, as are your people.

With that, his father held his arm out; Legolas took it and let his King walk him from the study, leaving Elrond standing at his desk, where the Peredhel wiped at his furrowed, vexed brow as he watched the Prince and King leave.


	37. Chapter 37

Estel swung his legs back and forth under the table upon which he sat. Should his father come out of his study, Elrond would not be pleased to see the Ranger sitting on the ancient, stone-carven table that had been in the Last Homely House since the day it was completed, but the twins had grown tired of watching Estel pace back and forth and insisted he sit somewhere before they throttled him.

He had half a mind to enter the study to find his lover. Without thinking, he hopped off the table and began again to pace, an act earning him two scathing glares from the twins, who were annoyed by the Ranger’s clacking boots, even if they sympathized with his impatience. When finally he decided he could take no more, Estel walked to the door and reached for the doorknob to peer inside or try to overhear what was occurring – ere he had the knob in hand, the portal suddenly opened and before him stood Glorfindel with Erestor and Thialid just behind the commander. The human quickly moved from their way. Thialid did not look up from the ground as he walked past the twins and Ranger. While Erestor continued on with Thialid, the Imladrian commander extricated himself from where he had his arm under Thialid’s arm to support the grieving father. Glorfindel lagged behind a few steps and thus allowed Erestor and Thialid to walk ahead of him for a brief moment.

Glorfindel barely paused long enough to speak before he was off to take hold of Thialid’s arm again, but the Adan had no trouble in hearing as Glorfindel told him quietly, “Elrond will want to speak to Legolas and Thranduil for a time, I think, but do not wander far. Your Greenleaf will need you, Estel. He is worsening.”

With that said, Glorfindel strode forward to catch up to his lover and their friend and then slid his arm back under Thialid’s in congenial support.

 _Morgoth’s balls. He should not have attended this meeting,_ he decided of the Prince, thinking just as had Legolas several times over the course of said meeting. Querulously, the Ranger watched Glorfindel, Thialid, and Erestor as they walked past the first staircase, which would have taken them down into the family wing, to move onwards to the hall that led to the central part of the house, where the main stairwell was located. Likely, they were taking Thialid to the rooms in which he stayed while in Imladris rather than at his small vineyard farther out in the valley. Aragorn turned to the door to his father’s study and willed it to open and Legolas to walk without, thinking, _How upset is he, I wonder? I cannot delay in telling him that I will not go to Mirkwood, but if his sorrow has already surfaced again, I only chance pushing him over the edge._

“Estel,” the younger of his twin brothers implored him quietly, “let us go to the apothecary for a moment. We wish to speak to you.”

He turned his attention to Elladan and Elrohir, who had risen from their seat on the bench and were preparing to walk away, expecting him to follow. However, Aragorn did not want to leave the vicinity – especially not after Glorfindel’s advice. “No,” he told his brothers. “Greenleaf will be done soon and – ”

“He is about whom we wish to talk. They will have to walk past the apothecary’s door, Estel. You will not miss him,” the elder of his twin brothers assured him.

During their wait, the Ranger had seen Elladan and Elrohir looking to each other. As they were wont to do, the twins had been having a wordless conversation. Unable to follow their conversation and occupied by his own thoughts, Aragorn had overlooked them, but whatever they had been considering was now to be told to him, it seemed, and needed to be said without the chance of being overheard.

Elladan and Elrohir began walking down the hall again, certain Estel would follow. Because what Elladan said was true – that they would see Legolas when he left the study – and because he wished to know of what the twins wanted to say to him about the laegel, Aragorn trailed behind, giving the study’s door a final glance before he entered the apothecary to speak in private to his brothers.

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So accustomed was the Prince to his King’s tempers that Legolas knew his father was beyond cross – from the overly tight hold Thranduil had upon his arm, the Elvenking would be sharing his wrath for the Prince soon enough. Indeed, once in the hall – which much to Legolas’ astonishment was empty of the twins and Ranger, whom he thought would be waiting for him – his father deferred venting his anger only until he had the door to Elrond’s study closed. The King hissed in a whisper to Legolas, “Do not ever think to speak for me again. I should not have to remind you that you must concede to me for all matters of state, Legolas.”

The Prince knew what he had done wrong without being told – when Thialid had pled on behalf of Faelthîr, for the Elleth to be allowed to sail rather than paying with her life for her part in the plot against Thranduil, Legolas had interjected his opinion and usurped his King’s place to sway Elrond’s decision. Not regretful in the least but knowing what was required of him, Legolas tried to lessen his father’s anger by telling him, “I am sorry, Ada.”

“Do not tell me you are sorry when you do not mean it,” Thranduil growled at him, shook the Silvan by his arm, and thus pulled Legolas off his feet. By this secure hold and with the Prince stumbling the whole way, the Elvenking yanked the Prince farther from the study door and to the open-windowed wall along the front of the corridor. Between two of these windows did Thranduil slam the younger Elf’s back. Legolas’ head struck the unforgiving stone behind him and the image of his father’s irate face swam before him. “You have forgotten your place. Need I remind you? Your grief is no excuse for treasonous disobedience.”

He had thought never to feel such fear around his father again. He had thought his Ada might truly change his vicious ways. Legolas said the only thing he knew to say, though it had never worked before to appease his King’s wrath for him. He repeated in a daze, unthinkingly closing his eyes when the wavering image of his father threatened to make him ill, “I am sorry, Ada.”

“Look me in the eye when I am speaking to you,” the King warned the Prince, who immediately tried to do as commanded, to look at his father, but upon seeing the hatred upon his father’s face – a hatred he had hoped never to witness again – Legolas lowered his head as the now familiar, shrill pain of his grieving faer shot across his chest. This unintentional snub only heightened the King’s anger and he ordered in quiet exclamation, “Look at me!”

For the past two weeks, his father had done well to maintain his composure. Now that the dam holding back Thranduil’s violence was cracked, all of the blockaded, barely concealed odium he had accrued for Legolas over the many years came bursting through, along with his frustration and worry, in the King’s habitually forceful way. Thranduil’s hand clenched the front of the laegel’s shirt and he pushed Legolas into the wall another time, once more banging the young Silvan’s head into the stone behind him – and then the Elvenking did it again, growling low in his throat, before ramming the Wood-Elf Prince against the wall for a fourth time. The impact of this last blow created a burst of pain through his neck and jaw, and a wet feeling upon his scalp evinced that the battering had broken the skin upon the crown of his head. Already the Prince’s breathing was negligible, for his faer’s constricting sorrow and the compression of his torso by his father’s hand halted his ability to draw in sufficient air.

But still, the alarmed Silvan tried to apologize, though he managed little more than a wheezing whisper, saying, “I am sorry, Ada.”

Suddenly, at seeing his son’s fear of him, the King realized what he was doing. Thranduil released the young Silvan abruptly and stepped back, while Legolas teetered forward before he fell to his knees afore his father. How many times had he ended up on his knees before his King, pleading for forgiveness for trespasses he had not committed, awaiting another bout of bruises and blood, shame coursing through him for his obeisance to his King’s unbearable ire? Too many times to count, certainly. Legolas was tired. He was so very tired. He nearly fell forward onto his face but his father caught his shoulder before bending to seize the Prince by his upper arms to heave Legolas up and off the floor.

Grumblingly, Thranduil inquired with unchecked rancor, “Why must you be this way? What have I done to deserve a son such as you? You are weak-willed and pathetic.” 

“Is this what Greenleaf has to look forward to upon his return to the Greenwood?” came a castigating voice from behind the King. “I see now why he is always eager to come to us here in the Last Homely House, if this is how fathers treat their sons in your halls.”

Thranduil spun around at the audacious criticism. Elrond stood in the open doorway to his study. Unbeknownst to Legolas or Thranduil, having perceived the King’s scarcely hidden anger towards the Prince, the Peredhel had followed behind them on their way out, stood at the door in wait for sign of Thranduil’s anger, and thus heard what the King told the Prince. He then opened the door to see the end of Thranduil’s violent outburst. Elrond would not stand by for another moment without interfering.

“This does not concern you,” the King answered, letting go of Legolas’ arm. Uncharitably, Thranduil reminded the Imladrian Lord, “As you suggest, this is between a father and his son. You are not his father. He is mine, Elrond. I see now,” the King replied vindictively, using the Peredhel’s own words against him, “why he is always eager to come to your home, for you cosset him like an Elfling when he needs to be indurated into a Prince, and not this sniveling, quivering mess you have made of him. This does not concern you,” the Elvenking repeated, taking a step closer to Elrond with his arms crossed over his chest.

Just a short while ago, the King and Peredhel had promised to visit each other’s realms, to ensure their friendship remained intact, but all civility between Elrond and Thranduil vanished in that single moment. Without the support of his father’s hurtful hands, the dizzy, famished, and exhausted Prince soon dropped back to his knees and nearly fell lifelessly to the floor, but caught himself with one hand in time to keep from smashing his face against the stones. He fumbled to place his other hand under him when his arm felt too feeble to hold up his slight weight. The floor under his hands was tilting. He had two hands, and then he had four, and then two again, as his vision doubled intermittently, but soon he had no hands at all when it dimmed entirely. The urge to retch overwhelmed him – only the fear of what his father might say to his doing so quashed his belly’s protest. Legolas blinked his eyes repeatedly as if to clear them, but this did not remove the blackness from his sight. He could see nothing. The fear that this brought caused his weary heart’s beat to stutter evermore and though his chest was no longer restrained by his King’s hold of him, Legolas found it even harder to draw in air as his anxiety overwhelmed him. Too immersed in their argument, the elder Eldar did not yet discern that something other than Thranduil’s anger and Elrond’s interference was causing Legolas’ terror.

“It concerns me. It concerns me that even though you knew Legolas was distressed by your unnecessarily detailed telling of his suffering to Thialid, you would not halt. It concerns me that even though you know his faer is shattered and is eager to flee his rhaw, you treat him with no regard. It concerns me,” Elrond railed, the volume of his voice mounting in tandem with his anger, “that you wish to take him away from here, where he is loved and can be cared for, when this is how you intend to treat him upon your journey and return to Mirkwood. Greenleaf will not survive you!”

Thranduil huffed in disbelief that the Peredhel had the gall to question him. And yet, the Elvenking did not argue further. In fact, the Sinda laughed derisively at the Peredhel’s claims. He spoke to Legolas, telling him, “Get up. Now. Let us go hasten our preparations to leave. I wish to listen to no more of Elrond’s self-righteousness.”

Upon his knees and slightly bent at the waist, the Prince earnestly wanted to obey his father. He was mortified to be the focus of the argument between these two Elves whom he loved dearly. Right now, Legolas would be happy to leave the valley at this precise moment if it meant Elrond and Thranduil would not be quarrelling over him. When in desperation he tried to rise to his feet, Legolas stumbled back to his knees. Noting the Prince’s unsteadiness, Elrond looked to the young Silvan and saw the blooming, crimson blossom of blood upon the crown of his head. Forgetting his indignation for Thranduil’s treatment of the laegel, the Peredhel rushed to Legolas and crouched down before him.

“Greenleaf?” Elrond inquired, trying to get Legolas to look at him. When the Wood-Elf remained with his head bowed to the floor, Elrond placed two fingers under the young Silvan’s chin and lifted Legolas’ face. Elrond thought Legolas would not look at him when in truth the Wood-Elf could not see his Minyatar through the obfuscation of his vision; and so, the Peredhel tapped the side of the laegel’s face as if to garner his attention. Sounding evermore nervous, the healer insistently prompted, “Greenleaf?”

He could not even take in enough breath to answer. Elrond walked upon his knees until he was close enough to pull the Prince to him and into his embrace. With his Minyatar’s gentle, calming affection, the darkness clouding his vision began to clear. It had not been injury to obscure his sight but his inability to breathe because of his acute anxiety. Elrond’s soothing pacified the Wood-Elf in a matter of moments. _Ada is watching,_ he realized, his apprehension returning. _He is right. I am acting like a frightened, foolish child._ He hurried to remove himself from Elrond’s benevolent hold of him, giving the healer no time to inspect the wound to the Prince’s head, as he had been about to do.

Ere he could try to stand on his own, to obey his father, and hopefully to end this tense standoff between his Ada and his Minyatar, Legolas felt as his father’s hand clasped the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck: Thranduil hauled Thranduilion up, the collar of his shirt carelessly tightening around his neck in the process. His King commanded of him, “Stand up. Quit cowering.”

Unable to put his feet under him fast enough, Legolas stumbled until his hands found the ledge of the nearest window’s sill. By this, he managed to remain upright, though Thranduil soon had hold of his arm to yank him beyond Elrond’s reach, which he did with spitefulness. Legolas could not have known it, so aloof was his father’s face, but Thranduil’s jealousy was roused by seeing how easily his son was soothed by Elrond’s handling and how readily the Prince allowed the Peredhel to comfort him.

Thranduil insisted to the Prince, his bruising hold absolute and unforgiving, “We are leaving now. I will not stay here another moment and watch you wallow in this pity.”

In his eagerness to leave the Last Homely House and Elrond’s judgmental glower for him, however, the King’s careless vehemence yanked the laegel off his feet once more, which caused the Wood-Elf nearly to fall; in his effort to keep the flagging Prince upright, Thranduil thrust Thranduilion towards the wall for balance, where his already bleeding head rebounded against the stones with an audible thud, though this time it was more of an accident than by purpose. The results were the same, nonetheless, and the laegel gasped at the quick agony of his already battered head bouncing off the wall yet again.

Behind where the Prince stood, where his head had struck the wall, a slick of Legolas’ blood dribbled down the stones. This finally consumed Elrond with fury; he shouted as he rose from his knees, “That is enough!”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had only just settled onto the benches in the apothecary when Elladan held up his hand to shush his brothers, though he then whispered, “I think I hear Thranduil and Greenleaf.”

Unable to distinguish the words being said, Estel was only able to tell that his lover was speaking to his father. As they listened, he watched Elladan and Elrohir’s faces – identical in every way, the only proper method of telling them apart was that while Elrohir tended to display his emotions upon his features, Elladan tended to be more subdued and reserved. At this moment, however, as if they were truly mirror images rather than just seeming like reflections of the other, Elrohir and Elladan’s visages became gloomy with frighteningly brisk, identical detestation.

“What is it?” he asked his brothers. This time, Elrohir held his hand up to quiet the Adan.

The twins looked to each other, deciding between them whether to answer the Ranger’s question. Elrohir nodded at his twin and then turned in his seat to face Estel, telling him, “Thranduil is angered with Greenleaf over something and Greenleaf is apologizing for it.”

The Adan stood with all intention of leaving to intercede on his lover’s behalf. He was stopped by Elladan, who seized the Ranger’s arm to stop him. “Wait. Ada is out there now; do not interrupt.”

 _I wish I could hear as they can,_ the human complained. As with Thranduil and Legolas, he could tell his father was now talking to the King and Prince even if he could not understand of what they spoke, but thought that his father sounded incensed. He shifted in agitation where he stood before his brothers, his gaze upon them for clues as to the severity of the conversation occurring in the corridor. _They dragged me in here to talk, so let them talk. I could have been in the hallway and able to hear had they not insisted upon my coming in here._

Once more, Elladan and Elrohir looked to each other. Exasperated, Aragorn could bear it no more and so opened his mouth to question them about what was being said. Before he could do so, all three brothers plainly heard their father’s voice as Elrond suddenly shouted, “That is enough!”

The surprised Ranger was pushed from the way as the twins fled the room and sped down the corridor to be in the midst of whatever was causing their typically patient father to shout with irritation. Estel was not far behind them. Near to the door to their father’s study stood Elrond, while Thranduil and Legolas were beside the windowed wall that faced the courtyard at the front of the house; the King and Prince stood close together, the laegel’s arm in his father’s hand.

Thranduil looked down the corridor to where the three brothers raced towards them, interrupting whatever argument was occurring before the King could respond to Elrond’s voiced annoyance. The twins went immediately to their father in support of him. It was not often any of them saw their Ada appear as upset as he was now; in fact, the last time Aragorn knew his father to be as distressed as he looked now was about a week ago, when the Ranger had finished telling the Peredhel that the Prince had been raped in the Last Homely House. That night, Elrond had thrown everything upon his desk’s top to the floor in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

None too gently casting Legolas’ arm from his grasp, which caused the Prince to stumble backwards until he found the wall behind him with one hand, Thranduil did not even acknowledge the twins or Adan’s presence nor look to the Prince as he instructed his son, “Rest and eat, Legolas. Do not let me hear you have done otherwise. Be ready to depart at a moment’s notice.”

Aragorn flew to Legolas to seize hold of the Prince’s hip to steady him. He glared at Thranduil as the golden-haired Elf strode quickly away from them. _What is the matter with him? He could have knocked Greenleaf to the ground._ Stepping closer to Legolas and also moving in front of him, the Ranger meant to ask what was happening, but the midday sunlight glinted upon the rubicund fluid dripping down the wall. _Blood? Eru’s arse, what has Thranduil done?_

“Ada,” Elrohir implored their father, walking with his twin behind Elrond, who was now beside Estel. The Peredhel gently prompted Aragorn to move from the way with a firm hand to his side. “What was all that about?”

Elrond did not answer; the healer wanted first to check on the status of the Wood-Elf. Legolas’ face was downturned. The Peredhel threaded his fingers through the hair at the crown of the Prince’s head, causing Legolas’ glossy, once immaculately braided hair to tug free of its plaits. Tenderly, the Noldorin Lord palpated the quiescent Silvan’s scalp; Estel noticed that when his father withdrew his hand, the Peredhel’s fingers were bloodied.

_Less than a day and Thranduil has broken his promise. He could not even make it out of the valley before he hit Greenleaf._

Finally, their father answered, “Thranduil lost his temper.” With his clean hand, Elrond tried to lift the Prince’s head to incite him into looking at the Peredhel, while telling him, “Come, Greenleaf. Come to the apothecary with me, please. Let me see to this wound properly.”

However, Legolas pulled his face from Elrond’s grasp and shook his head in negation. He slid his back along the wall, slinking to the side as if to evade the three Noldor and Adan, saying, “Kalin. He should be here. Where is he?”

The Prince looked around the hall for his sentry, but earlier, shortly after Ninan had called for Kalin to speak to him about their path home, Ninan had requested for Kalin to come with him to look over a map. Reluctantly, the sentry had complied with his captain. Estel put his arm out, his palm flat against the inner edge of the inset of the window’s frame, to impede Legolas from slithering past them on this side. “He is with Ninan, planning for your journey home.”

Unaware that from his words he had just intimated the confirmation of his lover’s consuming fear – that is, that it was Legolas’ journey home and not ‘their’ journey to Mirkwood – Aragorn watched the Silvan’s head fall forward and his hand creep up to pester the middle of his chest, and wondered at the rapid change in the Wood-Elf’s demeanor. The night before, the Prince had been happy to find pleasure with him; less than an hour ago, he had kissed the human warmly in front of others; and now, the laegel recoiled from Estel’s arm as if it might burn him.

The Wood-Elf’s head bobbed as if he were nodding off to sleep, when in fact, his consciousness was on the verge of fleeing him. At once, Elrond took hold of the Prince’s shoulders in case the laegel should topple over, but again, Legolas tried to shrug off the Noldo’s hands and repeated, “Please. I need Kalin.”

Estel felt a pang of jealousy. Prior to the last fortnight, Legolas would never have chosen his sentry’s aid over his, his brothers’, or especially their father’s help, and he wondered what had caused the laegel’s sudden refrainment. Kalin was now as close a friend to Legolas as were the twins or Ranger, so Estel thought, _I’m being silly. If he wants Kalin, we should just go fetch him._

Elladan and Elrohir were sharing a tacit conversation between them and paying no one else any mind. He could see his brothers had come to the same conclusion between the two of them, for they turned to the Prince simultaneously, with Elladan assuring Legolas, “I will find him.”

Legolas murmured something sounding like a thank you and Elladan took off at a run down the corridor, leaving Elrohir to block the other side of the laegel so the Prince would not fall over in that direction.

“Greenleaf?” the Peredhel prompted the Wood-Elf in fatherly concern. Elrond tried again to lift the laegel’s chin to force Legolas into looking at him, but when the Silvan’s entire body reeled backwards at this, he removed his digits from under the laegel’s face and replaced his hands upon Legolas’ shoulders. This time, the Wood-Elf did not try to shrug them off. Elrond suggested keenly, for he could tell the young Elda was on the verge of collapse, “Let us take you to your room.”

“No, please,” the Prince argued weakly, quietly, giving no reason for his answer except to repeat. “I need Kalin.”

“Elladan is off finding him,” Elrond reminded the Silvan, adding, “Sit for now, until he comes back.”

Without asking, and despite that Legolas seemed reluctant to be led even so far as across the hallway, the Peredhel incited the Wood-Elf into shambling to the bench, where he forced the Silvan into sitting. Half collapsing into his seat, Legolas grunted as if this pained him and once more, he pitched forward, though in anticipation of this, both Elrond and Estel caught the Wood-Elf and settled him upright. Aragorn perched on the bench beside the Silvan, worrying, _Is this grief that consumes him now or is this injury?_ Estel could not understand why Legolas wanted his sentry above Elrond, the twins, or himself; Legolas had grown to depend upon Kalin during the time when Mithfindl had forced the Prince away from his friends and family by creating distrust for them. Estel thought of this now, for he could only guess, _Is there anything Kalin might do that any of us cannot do – lest Legolas does not trust us?_

Elrond knelt beside Elrohir on the floor before the Wood-Elf, with the Peredhel trying to look up into the Prince’s face, since Legolas could not seem to keep his head up. “Greenleaf,” the healer worriedly doted upon the young Silvan, sweeping the hair away from the laegel’s face with fatherly devotion. “Kalin is coming. Stay awake.”

The sluggish, somnolent Wood-Elf did not respond. With his shoulders hunched over, his back bowed, and his neck bent forward, Legolas looked very much as if he slept where he sat. Luckily, it did not take long for Kalin to arrive; the sentry had been in Thranduil’s guest room, looking over the map with Ninan, when the King entered after leaving the hallway where Elrond’s family and Legolas remained. Being that Thranduil had sent them along to fetch the Prince, anyway, their coming was only hastened by Elladan’s search for Kalin. Indeed, only a moment after they got Legolas seated, from down the hall in a mad dash came Kalin, whom despite that he was still recovering from near exsanguination was running faster than were the others. The sentry slid to a stop just before bowling over Elrond and Elrohir; father and son moved from the way to give Kalin room, while Estel remained seated with his arm looped lightly around Legolas’ waist to help him remain upright.

“My Prince?” the faithful sentry asked, doing as had Elrond earlier in bending low so that he could look up into the younger Silvan’s downturned face.

The human’s jealousy reared again when Legolas toppled forward into Kalin’s body, his arms reaching out for his fellow Silvan to wrap around his neck. The Prince rested his head upon his sentry’s shoulder and asked of Kalin, “Take me to my room, please, Kalin.”

Not one to deny his Prince anything if he could help it, Kalin immediately slid his arms under his Prince’s knees and behind his back. Ninan protested briefly, saying, “Kalin, let me – ”

Kalin cut him off tersely, his too-light charge already in his embrace, held tight to his chest, and the sentry weaving between Elrond’s family to do as he’d been bid and take his Prince to his rooms, as he told Ninan, “I have him.”

In utter confusion, Estel watched the two sentries flee down the hall to the stairwell. Neither his father nor his brothers followed, which caused the Ranger to delay his own desire to take off after them to ascertain his lover’s welfare. The sunshine coming through the open-air windows seared his eyes – as did the tears that burnt behind them. The human asked in bewilderment, “Why does he shun us?”

“Because he is doing as his father wishes. He does not shun us – he is trying to survive without us already, as his father intends to have him do by taking him to Mirkwood,” the Peredhel explained quietly. Aragorn watched Kalin carry his precious burden. The sight of his lover’s head resting against Kalin’s shoulder irked the human to no end. Unable to look away from the Wood-Elves, he listened intently as his father continued, “Thranduil hopes for Greenleaf to survive, I do not doubt it, but Thranduil wants for Legolas to do this alone, growing hard and unmerciful, cold and calculating, as has Thranduil, or if he cannot do this, to die rather than live a life Thranduil considers shameful for want of love and comfort.”

When Kalin and Ninan disappeared down the stairs with their Prince, the Adan turned to his father to have his many questions answered, but he forgot every single one of them at seeing his Ada was seated upon the bench against the wall, his head in his hands. His troubled face incited the twins to turn around to look at their father, as well, for they too had been watching the Silvan.

“Ada?” Elladan and Elrohir said nearly simultaneously.

Elrond looked up to them with grief-stricken eyes. He knew of what they wished to ask and succinctly answered, “Our Greenleaf is fading, and I fear that this time he will be beyond our reach.”


	38. Chapter 38

After hearing his father’s dire proclamation, Estel strode away from his brothers and Ada, despite that they called after him to halt. He paid them no mind. Elrond had just said he thought Legolas might be beyond their reach – Estel could not abide this. The Adan hastened down the hall and to the stairs, only to find himself pulled to an abrupt and painful stop with his foot hovering over the first step down. Determined to go after Legolas, he tried to yank his tunic free of whomever it was holding him, and doing so nearly caused him to fall forwards down the stairwell. Luckily for him, Elladan added his own hand to Elrohir’s where it held to the human’s clothing, which kept Aragorn from a potentially nasty tumble down the stairs.

“Estel, you twit,” Elrohir chastised him with true anger, which was not something the Adan often heard from his brothers – at least, not directed at him, anyway. The younger Noldo told his human foster sibling in exasperation while helping Elladan force the Adan away from the stairs and back into the hallway, “Breaking your neck won’t help Greenleaf.”

“I need to go to him,” he tried to argue while shaking his torso to fling off their hands, though the twins did not yet let go of him.

Coming at a gliding, graceful pace was their father, who now stood in front of the harried Ranger. The watchful twins remained on either side of Aragorn and kept their hands upon him to keep him from leaving again. The human managed to shake free of their clutches and stepped back, not intending to argue with them but to flee to be with the Prince; however, Elrond’s softly spoken admonishment stopped him dead in his tracks, for his Ada told him, “No, Estel.”

“Why?” he asked. Reluctantly, the human remained, though he cast a gaze down the stairwell, his whole being and his worried mind set upon descending those stairs. “You cannot still think Thranduil is right. You cannot think Greenleaf going home with his father is best for him. You cannot think Greenleaf doesn’t need us.”

“And yet, he will go with his King to his homeland, where his life or death will no longer be under our influence.” Elrond was not looking at his sons but at his hands. Discoloring his long fingers was a tacky red substance – Legolas’ blood – which had come from the Wood-Elf’s injured head. Heedless of the laegel’s essence staining his hand, the Peredhel pinched at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he did so. To Aragorn, it looked as if his father were fighting the urge to weep. “What I think no longer matters.”

He looked to his brothers in turn, but both twins were observing their father. They left their places beside Estel and moved the short distance to stand beside Elrond, and then found small ways to touch him, to comfort their Ada with their presence. They knew better than did the human how Legolas’ defilement, his grief and self-destruction, and his distancing from them affected their father, for they had lived through their Naneth doing the same.

“What would you have me do, Estel?” Elrond asked the Adan in scarcely concealed anxiety. With a desperation Aragorn had never seen upon his father’s face, Elrond begged of the human, as if he thought Estel might truly be able to establish order in this desultory situation, “Tell me. What am I supposed to do to help our Greenleaf? I no more desire to leave him to suffer without comfort than do any of you, but I cannot keep him here. I cannot cast Thranduil out and hold Legolas captive. Would you have us war with the Greenwood over their Prince? Do you think Greenleaf would survive the turmoil of having his father and I fight over him? I have no claim to him; I am not his father, just as Thranduil is quick to remind me. Nor would Legolas allow it. He will go with his father to avoid conflict, to keep peace.”

Estel’s anger deflated a bit. When first Thranduil had come to the valley, before any of them had given Mithfindl a second thought, the Ranger had worried that the Elvenking had come to take Legolas away. Now, a couple of weeks later, Thranduil intended to do this very thing, but the stakes were higher than before. Whereas upon his father’s arrival the Prince had been healing, he was now broken once again, perhaps worse off than from the merchants’ handling, although perhaps better off than then – Estel could not tell. The Adan hung his head, for he had no answers for the Peredhel.

Elladan and Elrohir, the Ranger noticed, were smiling. So discordant did their merriness seem that the human was instantly infuriated again, just because of his brothers’ ostensibly inexplicable joy. Taking Estel by the arm while Elrohir took Elrond by the hand, the twins led the human and Peredhel down the hall and back towards the apothecary, where the family had so often met to discuss Legolas during the last few weeks. “We didn’t get the chance to speak to you, brother, since Thranduil’s wrath interrupted us, but Elladan and I have an idea,” the elder twin told the Adan.

“Although you won’t like it,” the younger twin warned their Ada.

He allowed himself to be led away, allowing his heavy heart to lighten at Elladan’s hopeful smile, for his brothers were quick of wit and might have something of use up their sleeves to share. _Thank Eru, then, if they have an idea._ Aragorn could not help himself but to cast another glance toward the stairwell, thinking, _I am coming, Greenleaf. Just a while longer._

Inside the apothecary, the Ranger grudgingly sat upon a bench. His arms crossed over his chest, the Adan impatiently waited for someone to begin talking. If what Elrond said earlier was true, then at this very moment Legolas could be fading from sorrow, so Estel did not have the time to spare, by his thinking. The twins stood between where Aragorn sat and where their father settled against the counter, his bloodstained hands clasped together in front of him, which was where his watery gaze was settled. When Elladan shut the door, the identical brothers were ready to explain themselves.

“Listen,” Elrohir told the Adan, though he spared a vexed glance at their father, as if wishing Elrond were not present, “Elladan and I have thought this over, and we both agree you ought to take Greenleaf into the wilds, whether Thranduil agrees or not. Or Ada, for that matter,” the younger Noldo added quietly and somewhat apologetically out of deference to their father.

“And after how the King has just treated the Prince, we no longer feel guilty for suggesting it,” Elladan spoke on his and his twin’s behalf, shooting his father the same bothered glance as did his younger twin. “If there is any merit to what Thranduil says, then this is the solution.”

As they often did, the twins spoke as if they were voicing the same thoughts from the same mind, intertwining their contributions to their explanation so that it was difficult to interrupt but easy to understand – if one could follow the constant barrage of information from two different sources. Estel had years of practice at listening to his brothers speak in this way and so had no trouble following along.

“Thranduil thinks Greenleaf needs to prove himself constantly, to live the life of a hardened warrior, while Ada,” Elrohir continued, though he paused and thought of how to say what he needed to say without insulting or disrespecting his father. After a moment, he alleged, “While Ada wants Greenleaf to live a happy life, though not one where he neglects his duties as Prince, as Thranduil seems to think. Thranduil uses discipline, his fists, and his words, while Ada shows Greenleaf only care and understanding.”

Elladan nodded, agreeing with everything his brother said, which was only natural, since they seemed to share the same thought processes anyway. “But Thranduil is right – Legolas needs both. He needs affection and support, but he also needs to act as a Prince, as a warrior, because that is who he is. Going to Mirkwood with the Silvan might have allowed Legolas to have both, since Thranduil would be himself – all insults, duty, and denigration – while you would be Legolas’ comfort. However, as you say, it is not wise for you to go to Mirkwood. Thranduil has mostly managed to hold his temper while here, but in his own halls, he will undoubtedly not do so, and he might cast you out again, or try to control you with the threat of keeping you away from Legolas, and then Greenleaf would still have to endure without you.”

“And he should not be forced to endure without you.” Heaving a sigh, Elrohir moved closer to Elladan, who felt and shared his brother’s gloom, so in comfort placed a hand upon Elrohir’s upper back. The younger twin gave his elder twin a sad smile before he turned that same sorrowful expression to Estel, saying, “Faidnil is right. There is little or no hope for Legolas to live beyond your death. If he does survive your passing, then he will have to sail. It is the only way he will persist.”

“There is no changing it, no matter what Thranduil wishes. If there is a compromise to be had, if there is some middle ground upon which Greenleaf can depend, then it is you, Estel. In the wilds, he will be about his own business, using his wits, his talents as an archer and a woodsman, amidst the nature his Silvan soul desires. He will have purpose by sharing your purpose – to hunt Orcs or thieves or whatever your duty as a Ranger demands of you – which will be good for him. He will be away from Thranduil, but also away from Ada, away from us, away from the valley, where he has no purpose, no duties, and if we coddle him as Thranduil says,” the elder twin claimed, his voice growing hard and disbelieving, which showed exactly what he thought of the Elvenking’s assertions, “then he will be free of that, as well.”

The twins quieted for a moment to let Aragorn and Elrond think of what they had said. Thranduil and Elrond were quite a lot alike, truth be told, but as far as how they treated Legolas, the two could not be more different. _And I am the middle ground of which they speak. With me,_ he reiterated to himself, _Greenleaf would not be coddled, for I will keep my promise to Thranduil, regardless that he broke his promise to me. But I will not treat him callously, as does Thranduil, nor as a wounded patient, as does Ada._ The Adan’s mind reeled with his brothers’ assessment. He could see the wisdom in their deliberation, although he had his doubts about their method. Looking to his father, Estel wondered what Elrond thought of this; before he could question them or ask his father’s opinion, the twins were speaking again.

Gently, Elladan begged, “Estel, please. Even if the two of you must sneak off in the night, take Greenleaf with you. He desires you above all else, as it should be since the two of you are as close as if you were bonded in the ways of the Eldar.”

“If you do not go to Mirkwood, as you seem set against doing, then Greenleaf will die. Or worse yet, his father will succeed, and Greenleaf will turn into a cold, heartless shell of the brother we know now,” Elrohir warned.

Estel never once thought of what might happen should Thranduil succeed in his endeavor to indurate the Prince with his violence and petty belittlement. Moreover, to hear Elrohir say this possibility was worse than the Prince’s potential death was a rude awakening for the Ranger, for he thought they might be right. Yes, Greenleaf would be alive, but he would be joyless, as was Thranduil, which would be a hollow existence for Thranduilion.

With the brief lull in the twins’ locution, Elrond interceded, “I admit I would have Greenleaf remain here in the valley rather than go with his father, but going into the woods with Estel would be an ideal alternative. And yet, I do not like it. You risk Thranduil’s wrath, which would not be for you. The King will take out his anger upon Greenleaf. Legolas does not need to suffer more of his father’s anger. He may normally be conditioned to receive it, but he is not able to endure it now.” Elrond had his arms twisted around his middle, like one would if one’s stomach was hurting, as he said morosely, “I do not want to lose another of our family to grief with my failure to be of help to Greenleaf.”

As one, the two identical heads of his twin brothers snapped around so they could look upon their Ada. They knew, as did Estel, of whom Elrond spoke. Celebrian had lived through her torture at the hands of the Orcs, yes, only because of her husband’s abilities as a healer; nonetheless, not even Elrond had been able to mend her wounded faer.

Estel had never heard his foster father say anything that showed the Peredhel assumed the blame for his wife’s torment and eventual departure from Middle Earth. This was the first Aragorn knew of Elrond’s remorse for not being able to ensure the mother of his children wanted to remain with her kin. He had heard the twins express before that they wished they had been able to save Celebrian sooner, which might have kept her from suffering as she had, but it was usually their father who assured his sons they had done all they could for their Naneth.

“Ada,” Elrohir pled softly, “how many times have you told us it is not our fault Naneth was captured? Or that it is not our fault we could not renew her joy for living?”

“If you hold yourself accountable,” Elladan added decisively, coming to stand beside his twin to face their father, “then we are just as much to blame.”

With that, Aragorn knew Elrond would abandon the topic, for he would never want the twins to feel they were at fault for their mother’s captivity or for her choice to sail to Valinor. “You are right, of course,” their Ada replied, clearing the melancholy from his face to give his progeny a grateful, loving smile. He reached out to lay a hand upon each of his Elven sons’ shoulders. “None of us are to blame. And none of us are to blame for Legolas’ condition.”

Despite that he was part of the family, Estel felt he had witnessed a private moment between his brothers and father that did not include him. He had not known the Lady Celebrian except for through stories and memories told to him, so he did not love her as did the rest of his adoptive family, but he knew their fretful agony. He felt the same in regards to Legolas. While the Wood-Elf’s suffering was not his fault and Legolas’ sorrow not Estel’s burden to bear, he felt the same as did Elrond – Aragorn believed he might be able to keep the Silvan alive with the curative presence of his love and forbearance. His irritation eased, Estel dropped his arms from where they were pugnaciously crossed over his broad chest and closed his eyes against the sight of his family’s grief at their shared recollection.

Elrohir took his father’s hand from off his shoulder and held it within his own as he tried to convince Elrond, “In the end, Naneth left to cross the sea, regardless of all we tried to keep her here with us, but I would not trade those days we had with her, after we found her but before she sailed, even when she was sick with sea-longing – for any single moment of joy she found with us was a gift for her to take as a reminder of the family who loves her and a reminder for us of the graceful Elleth she was before, and how she will be again once Valinor soothes her faer.”

“It is the same for Legolas, Ada,” Elladan finished their argument, telling Elrond, “in that there is no end to Greenleaf’s suffering except in his death, or perhaps one day in his passing from here to the Undying Lands. One day, we will see Naneth again, but Legolas will be parted from Estel forever upon Estel’s death. Until then, we should let Greenleaf enjoy every moment he can with Estel. There is no curing Legolas’ faer, but Estel can ameliorate Greenleaf’s suffering, at least until it finally consumes him.”

The Ranger shifted uncomfortably in his seat upon the hard bench. The twins were set upon convincing Elrond to allow Legolas to go with the human although by his own admission, the Peredhel had no claim to decide what was best for the Prince. However, despite having said that they would have Estel leave with Legolas even should their father disagree with the plan for doing so, obtaining Elrond’s support for their actions was important to them all. None of Elrond’s children was keen to go against their father for any reason, even if they believed they were in the right.

Finally, Elrond nodded and smiled. He told his twin sons, “When did the two of you become shrewder than your ancient father?”

Neither twin answered; they knew their Ada far surpassed them in intelligence and wisdom, but they grinned at the praise nonetheless. In tandem, Elladan and Elrohir turned back to Estel, with the elder asking, “What do you think, Estel?”

The human was not as certain as were the twins that this was a good idea, but not because he did not want Legolas to accompany him or because he disagreed with their logic. No, the Adan would happily take the Prince with him and do whatever he could to bolster the Wood-Elf’s desire to live. If in the end the Ranger only provided a temporary lenitive for the Silvan’s wounded faer, then as the twins said of their mother, it would offer Legolas the comfort of having spent as much time with his lover as possible, giving the Prince cherished memories of Estel to enjoy in Valinor or in Mandos’ Halls. Even if Estel was not willing to concede that Legolas would die upon his own death, he had to take this risk into consideration. Besides, after what had just happened, now knowing that Thranduil’s oath to take better care of Legolas was too sudden a change for the King to be able to make, Estel was unwavering in seeing that the laegel did not go home with the Elvenking.

His father and brothers stood there staring at him, waiting for his answer. Leaning forward in his seat upon the bench, the human ran his hands over his face and then through his hair. “I don’t care if the King hates me, you know this. I had hoped he would prove true to his word, but,” he explained, pausing to gather his thoughts before he went on, saying, “but I fear it will take years before Thranduil learns to control his anger. I agree with you. Legolas should not go home with Thranduil. And yet, I do not want to come between them. Even if Greenleaf wishes to go with me, I do not know if he would go against his father to do so – nor am I sure I would want Greenleaf to accompany me if he had to go against Thranduil to do so.”

From the frustration on his twin brothers’ faces, Estel knew they were disappointed in him. However, his Peredhel foster father nodded sagely at him and gave the human a pained smile. “You are right to think so, Estel, but do not forget Faidnil’s advice. I am as guilty as anyone is of trying to do what is best for Greenleaf, rather than letting him choose for himself what he feels is best. If you do not tell Legolas you wish for him to join you or do not offer for him to join you, then you are making his choice for him.”

 _Ada is exactly right,_ the human appreciated, his trepidation to come between King and Prince loosening its grip upon his mind. _And the twins are right. I will tell him I cannot go to Mirkwood with him. I will tell him I am going into the wilds. I want to know what he thinks of this before I even extend the offer for him to join me if he desires. I need to tell him what Thranduil and I spoke of and the promises we made. Keeping secrets from Greenleaf will only embitter him towards me. When he knows everything, only then can he choose freely._ For the first time, perhaps, for the Ranger who thought he had saved Legolas from his sorrow months ago, who had assumed he was the only one who might do it again this time around, Estel understood it was all up to Legolas. Elrond had said Legolas was fading, that he might now be beyond their reach – Estel realized he needed only to extend his hand out to the Wood-Elf. Regardless of whether Legolas chose to take it, Aragorn would have done all he could for the Prince. _Please, Ilúvatar,_ he began, intending to pray for Legolas to elect to come with him, though he immediately recognized the folly of his thinking and so amended his prayer to, _Please give Greenleaf the wisdom to make the best choice._

With the patient, knowing, and long-suffering gaze of which only the Eldar are capable, his father and brothers still watched him. Their many years of knowing him gave Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir the unique ability to read upon the human’s face many of his thoughts before he voiced them aloud, such that even now, though he thus far had said nothing more and gave no hint of what he decided, the three Noldor smiled in relief, for they could perceive from the hard set of Aragorn’s whiskered jaw that he had made up his mind to follow the twins’ advice.

Even had he not been granted this new purpose, the human could have waited no longer to find out how the laegel fared. The Ranger stood from the bench. He straightened his tunic and his shoulders, feeling his determination as it spread through him. He told his family, “I will go talk to Legolas right now.”


	39. Chapter 39

He knew that he likely ought to feel ashamed. He had asked for his sentry like a child weeping for his mother, had wrapped his arms around Kalin’s neck and let his sentry carry him like a babe, and had hidden his face under the fall of hair around Kalin’s ear so he would not have to see his Minyatar, twins, or Estel while Kalin whisked his Prince away. Nevertheless, Legolas could not find it in himself to feel embarrassed for it and could not be bothered to care if anyone saw him – except perhaps for his King. They would not have to walk past the Elvenking’s door to reach Legolas’ room and he was certain his father would be inside his guest chamber – where he was likely throwing a fit of rage – but Legolas suddenly worried his Ada might come looking for him.

He whispered against his sentry’s neck, “Hurry, Kalin, please.”

This incited Kalin’s jogging pace to become an all-out run. Behind them, Ninan protested in apprehensive antagonism, “You are not yet at your full strength, Kalin. You should have let me carry the Prince. If you drop him…”

Ninan did not finish his half-hearted threat. The sentries did not understand what was occurring. Ninan and Kalin had only been told by their incensed King to fetch their Prince, to bring him to his room to eat and rest, they had only been told by Elladan that Legolas was asking urgently for Kalin to come to him for aid, and they only knew now what they had seen of their Prince in the hall above with Elrond and his children – that is, they saw that their Prince, barely able to sit on his own, was hunkered over from the weight of his sorrow, a sorrow that was nearly palpable to the two Silvan guards, and with Legolas in such a state where their normally proud Prince _asked_ to be carried, when normally he would have objected had either Kalin or Ninan tried. The sentries were understandably alarmed by Legolas’ condition and disconcerted by its cause.

Sprinting as if he were carrying his Prince away from danger, Kalin did not stop until they were in the younger Silvan’s rooms. Once within, Kalin came to an abrupt halt at the end of the laegel’s bed. Although Legolas could not see it since he still had his face buried into his sentry’s neck with his eyes shut tight, Kalin questioned Ninan wordlessly with a confused lift of his eyebrows, but Ninan no more knew what to do than did Kalin. They had done as both their King and Prince asked by bringing Legolas here, however, and now they wanted to do what they could for the young Wood-Elf whose faer was deteriorating rapidly afore them.

“Legolas?” his sentry reverently asked him while hefting the slight weight of the laegel in his arms. “Are you well?”

He pressed his forehead into the side of Kalin’s neck, wishing he did not need to show his face to them. Truth be told, the Prince did not want for Kalin to release him. If even after all father and son had been through, Thranduil still only offered him wrath and hatred, and if he were to leave Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel behind, then Legolas knew he had only Kalin upon whom to rely. But Kalin was not his lover, not his father – he could not just ask Kalin to comfort him as a father might hold his son or a lover might embrace his beloved. If Legolas did ask, however, he was certain Kalin would do so without any hesitation. His sentry loved him unconditionally and begrudged him nothing.

But Ninan was in the room, which decided the matter for the Prince, as Legolas would show no more feebleness than he had already with the captain an observer to it. He reluctantly whispered, “I’m fine. Put me down, please, Kalin.”

Legolas tried to extricate himself from his sentry’s hold, to place his feet under him, but Kalin tightened his grip of the younger Elf to keep him from doing so, and then settled his Prince into sitting upon the edge of the bed.

Offering no explanation and not even looking at his fellow Wood-Elves, Legolas swung his legs up onto the mattress and laid his head upon the pillow. Kalin sat him upon what had become Estel’s side of the bed; the laegel could smell the Ranger’s familiar scent, one that reminded Legolas of autumnal woods and arid soil after a hard, much-needed rain. He pushed his nose into the linen-encased, down feather pillow and inhaled deeply.

 _He is not coming to Mirkwood with me,_ he reminded himself, closing his eyes and drawing his bent legs up towards his chest at the thought. From when first his father had begun his tirade, panic had swelled inside the Wood-Elf, but upon hearing Estel’s intimation that he would not be joining the Prince in their trek to the Greenwood, that panic had become full-blown terror. Even now, the laegel could not seem to calm and his calamitous thoughts were not helping the matter. _He forsakes me. Perhaps he ought to. Perhaps it is best he does._ Even knowing that without Estel he would likely perish, Legolas tried to soothe himself by reasoning, _I had planned to die after killing Mithfindl, anyway. Now that all loose ends are tied, I have no excuse to linger any longer._ Unable to fathom why Estel would not want to accompany him, when it was only by the Ranger’s asking Legolas to hold on to hope and to give Estel time that Legolas still lived anyway, the laegel could find no forgivable reason for his lover to desert him.

He felt the mattress dip faintly as Kalin sat on the bed near to him, above where the laegel’s knees were folded and in the curve where the younger Silvan’s belly was bent at the waist. “Tell me what you need, my friend,” his guard tried while laying a hand upon his Prince’s shoulder.

If Kalin had been the only other one in the room, Legolas might have answered, but the Prince knew from experience that Ninan was foremost his father’s ally, of aid to Legolas only because it served his King to do so. Anything he said or did in Ninan’s presence was likely to be taken back to Thranduil, though not out of spite, but out of Ninan’s sense of duty to report to his King about all issues concerning the Prince. Thranduil would already know what was wrong with Legolas, certainly, but the Prince did not want Ninan to share any more information than necessary, for the laegel did not want for his father to know just how much his King’s anger affected him. To Thranduil, learning his son was lying in his bed a besorrowed mess of rattled nerves would be a victory for the sometimes malicious Elvenking, Legolas did not doubt. He did not answer Kalin.

Although Ninan spoke with more formality than did Kalin, he sounded just as concerned when he inquired, “Prince Legolas? Are you well? What happened? Do you need anything?”

What had happened was something that had never happened to the Wood-Elf before. The Prince was accustomed to anxiety, especially while in his father’s presence, for one never knew what might provoke the King to begin one of his infamous tirades. But this was different. He had already been caught in a muddying maelstrom of sorrowful reminders of his torment by Mithfindl, along with older memories of the human merchants – remembrances dredged up from having listened to his father speak to Thialid of Mithfindl’s ravaging of him and made worse by the piteous looks from Glorfindel and Erestor, which had reminded Legolas of how his kin looked at him after learning he had been despoilt by the human merchants. He might have been able to withstand his father’s anger in addition to having his faer feel as if it were slowly ripping free of his rhaw, had not Elrond interfered upon seeing how Thranduil treated Thranduilion. Having his Minyatar witness to Thranduil’s behavior and Legolas’ own obeisance to it created a shame the laegel could not surmount, while listening to his father and Minyatar fight over him brought to fruition one of the Wood-Elf’s greatest fears. All he had wanted was to flee, to be away from Thranduil and Elrond, but the Prince had never felt such acute anxiety before nor felt the debilitating physical effects of it so keenly, and his incapacitation had only heightened his anxiety until Legolas had felt he might drown in his self-made vortex of terror.

Even now, the laegel found it hard to breathe properly and his heart was beating rampantly, sorely, and wearily as his traitorous mind supplied him with a continuous recounting of his father and Minyatar’s argument, of Estel alluding to not going to Mirkwood with him, of how Thialid reacted to learning of Mithfindl’s actions and subsequent death, and of how he had begged for Kalin to carry him away from it all. The more he attempted to drown these alarming thoughts under the mendacious veneer of calm he tried to instill within his mind, the quicker they resurfaced, until the laegel’s breath once more only came in intermittently short gasps, his vision began to darken again from lack of air, and the pangs of sorrow that lanced across his chest were indistinguishable from the agony caused by his starving lungs and overexerted heart.

He would die right now if only it would relieve him of this unbearable panic. When beneath Mithfindl, while thinking it was Estel who had him, with the Noldo’s hands around his throat and his shaft rending the laegel’s innermost, tender flesh; when in the pit of the Troll cave, while searching frantically for the second phial of the milk of the poppy he had intended to drink to hasten his death; or when he had seen Estel topple from off the fallen tree to drop beneath the surface of the flooded Bruinen, thinking he was too far away to reach the Adan in time to keep Estel from drowning – even these recent events that had inspired seemingly indefatigable misery and aggrandizing trepidation within him did not compare to the unwarranted terror he felt now.

Ever attuned to his Prince, Kalin could feel Legolas’ utmost, swiftly augmenting panic, though he did not understand what caused it. The sentry beseeched the younger Silvan once again, pleading to be of service to his charge, “What can I do, my Prince? Please, tell me what you need, Legolas.”

Legolas shook his head slightly, not yet trusting himself to speak. He concentrated upon the warm weight on his shoulder from his sentry’s hand, using Kalin’s touch as a grounding ballast against the tumultuous tempest of his dread and woe. _It was all too much, all at once. That is all. Stop being childish,_ he chastised himself. After several long moments, the Prince finally regained some sense of control, his breath came easier, and through the fringe of his long, dark eyelashes, he could tell his vision was clearing, for he could see Kalin’s distressed visage as his sentry looked upon his Prince’s fair face. But then, for a stressful moment, Kalin lifted his hand, and Legolas thought his mind might once again spin out of control – his heart began thrashing inside his chest in response. However, his Silvan guard only moved his hand along his Prince’s arm until he had hold of Legolas’ wrist, which he pulled to bring closer to him. Furtively, Kalin pressed his fingers lightly into the thin flesh over the laegel’s wrist to calm his own panic with the reassurance of his Prince’s heartbeat. What he felt only unnerved Kalin further, however, as Legolas’ heart was beating a thready, rapid testament to the laegel’s unchecked, enigmatic condition.

When after a short while Legolas still did not answer either sentry’s questions, Ninan told Kalin, “The King was riled beyond reason, whatever has happened. And Legolas wanted you, not the Noldor or Estel. And none of them has followed us, have they? Our King and Prince have had some row with them, I would assume, for not even Estel to trail behind the Prince, when normally he can’t be kept away.”

 _I wasn’t ready, that is all,_ he attempted to bolster himself. He ignored his sentries and contemplated, _I wasn’t ready to face Ada’s revulsion for me just yet. The grief is too near to add Ada’s hate upon it; it is too much to endure all at once._ What Ninan said was only partially true, being that the quarrel was only between Thranduil and Elrond and had not involved the Prince except that he was the subject of it. No, Legolas wanted his Minyatar’s comfort, the twins’ jubilant affection, and he desired Estel’s warmth above all else. And yet, just as Elrond had told his sons after Legolas and his kith left the hallway above them, the Prince knew he would soon be leaving and he would have to live without them – or try to live, at least. He also did not desire to enrage his King further, which he would have done by not heeding his Ada’s order to go to his rooms, to rest and eat while awaiting their departure. While glad that Elrond and his sons had not followed him, Legolas had no answer for why they had stayed behind when normally they would never have been so easily turned aside.

Ninan spoke as if Legolas were not aware to hear what he said, but Kalin would not make that same mistake. He recalled well the compounding effects their doing so had caused for Legolas the night they had tied him to the bed in their false belief their Prince had gone mad. Kalin addressed him directly, his hand moving to push away the younger Elf’s now loose hair so he could see his charge’s face more clearly, “Legolas? Do you want Estel? Or Elrond?”

“No.” Legolas fumbled for Kalin’s hand, took it in his own, and then held tight to it with both of his. The midday sun was too bright for the Wood-Elf, and so he closed his eyes against the brilliance and the wearisome sight of his sentry’s perpetually worried face. “Just do not leave me,” he asked his guard in a nearly inaudible whisper, while wishing again that Ninan would do the opposite and leave forthwith.

Returning the laegel’s hold with a firm squeeze of his fingers upon Legolas’ hand, Kalin replied fervently, “Never, my friend.”

The captain of the Greenwood guard was not pleased by how his underling ignored him, nor was he pleased by the too-familiar way in which Kalin treated their Prince, despite that Kalin was doing more to aid the fading laegel than was he. Ninan moved closer to the bed; Legolas could feel his assessing gaze upon him. The young Silvan needed no more humiliation and did not like how Ninan seemed intent on inserting himself into his affairs. Kalin’s assurance that he would not leave him had assuaged some of the laegel’s panic, but Ninan’s pitying judgment was having the opposite effect.

Ninan’s assessment must have concluded with Kalin being at fault, for he suddenly barked at his subordinate, “Kalin. Why was Legolas in attendance with Lord Thialid and the others? He should not have had to suffer through explaining to Thialid why his son is dead,” Ninan chastised Kalin, as if the Prince’s sentry were his keeper rather than his guard. Ninan was not one to judge his sovereign and followed Thranduil’s orders without hesitation, so upon realizing he might have just questioned his King’s wishes, the captain altered his words as quickly as he changed his tone from fuming to hesitant,  “Unless – did the King demand he attend?”

His golden head swiveling around and up to face his captain, Kalin told Ninan in frustration, “No, Legolas wanted to attend. He is lying right here, you realize, and he is neither deaf nor asleep. The King did not demand he go but was pleased by the Prince’s decision to do so. If you are looking to place blame, look to our King. Obviously something has happened to enrage Thranduil and he has taken it out on Legolas, though it doesn’t take much to incite Thranduil into doing so, does it?” the sentry exclaimed in heated aggravation.

Not thrilled to be rebuked by his subordinate, Ninan was even less thrilled to hear Kalin’s criticizing of their King’s character. “Quiet!” the captain of the Silvan guards warned Kalin in a harsh whisper. “Watch how you speak of our King. If the Prince has infuriated the King, then evidently Legolas has done something against the King’s wishes.”

“You should take care of how you speak of our Prince,” Kalin railed in return. Legolas felt his sentry’s hand tightening upon his own as Kalin’s annoyance grew. “You know as well as I that Legolas need not do anything wrong to earn his father’s reprimand.”

Desirous to end the guards’ argument out of fear Ninan would take Kalin’s disparaging words back to the King, Legolas opened his eyes long enough to tell them both, “Quiet, please. I do not wish to hear it.”

Remarkably, Ninan and Kalin dropped their quarrel. Legolas was certain he would be ignored, but perhaps they both had learnt the lesson of what might happen should they treat Legolas’ demands with dismissal while thinking they knew better than their grief-ridden and stricken Prince, for doing so had also been one of the causes for his disintegration the night they tied him to this very bed, when Legolas had seemingly become incorrigible.

“I apologize, my Prince,” the captain formally stated. “I did not mean to … Kalin, you have blood on you,” Ninan began to apologize before he switched topics midsentence, pointing to Kalin’s shoulder when his underling looked about his person to find of what Ninan spoke. “I thought your injuries were all healed.”

Kalin rubbed a finger over the sticky cruor, which by its feel he ascertained was recently made. “They are all healed, yes, and this tunic is freshly cleaned.”

It took only a second for the two sentries to realize whose blood it was; they turned simultaneously to their Prince. It also did not take long for Kalin to suss out from what part of his Prince the blood had come, for the burgundy stain was upon his tunic just where the young Silvan’s head had rested. Kalin pulled his hand free from Legolas’ hold so he could inspect the laegel’s head, which he did at once, despite that the younger Wood-Elf attempted to push Kalin’s questing hand away. When the sentry’s digits threaded through the sticky mess of his Prince’s hair, Kalin pulled his now bloodied hand away to ask wonderingly, “What caused this?”

Legolas rolled onto his back and sat up to avoid having Kalin or Ninan scrutinize him any further. Hoping to stem their inquisition, in a murmur, he answered vaguely but honestly, “I spoke out of turn in the meeting with Thialid, upsetting our King.”

“So your father hit you?” the embittered Kalin asked, expecting no response, as the answer was clear to him. As he had said days before, Kalin said again to his Prince, “I grow tired of seeing you hurt, of seeing blood upon you. Have you not suffered enough? One would think your father could keep his temper in control out of the desire not to see you suffer further, but Thranduil was never one for abstemiousness.”

“Kalin!” the captain of the guard bellowed at his underling. Ninan’s hand shot out to grab Kalin’s shoulder, which he then shook as if by this he might shake some sense into his fellow guard. “I demand that you show respect for your King.”

But Kalin, too far gone in his anger and out of frustration that he could not seem to protect his Prince from harm, did not heed Ninan and opened his mouth to begin uttering more invectives. Again, Legolas tried to end their argument before it could truly begin. He called out, “Enough!”

Both sentries calmed and turned to him with sheepish faces, for here their Prince sat in a dismal state and they could not stop bickering, even though it was upsetting Legolas for them to do so.

“It is a trifling wound of no consequence. It no longer even bleeds,” he asserted, “but I am still tired and I wish to rest for a while, as our King has asked of me,” he told them, reminding them of his father’s command in hopes of having Ninan leave, though he wanted Kalin to remain. He did not want to be alone right now.

Able to determine his Prince’s desires better than could Legolas himself on occasion, Kalin knew how best to see that Ninan left without fuss and so was quick to tell is superior, “I will remain to see the King’s orders completed. In a while, after he rests, I will wake our Prince to eat again, as our King instructed.”

Mollified by this and desirous to be about his own business, the captain of the Silvan guard nodded to Kalin, though he gave his subordinate a glower promising a dressing down when the two were next alone. Ninan then bowed slightly to Legolas. He gave his Prince an eager smile, telling him, “Tomorrow we will be on our way home. Once we put Rivendell to our backs, the King’s worry will be alleviated, his irritability relieved, and each day will bring us closer to the Greenwood, my Prince. All will be well. You will see.”

Ninan said this as if going home would solve all of Legolas’ problems, as if Thranduil would suddenly be a loving father whose hands offered affection rather than blows. He would not say otherwise to Ninan, though, and so only returned the guard’s sincere smile with his own false one. With that, Ninan left the room – in fact, the captain seemed impatient to leave, as if being privy to his Prince’s personal problems was no longer his concern, now that his King was firmly in charge once again. The moment Ninan left and the door shut behind him, Legolas unthinkingly laid his head back against the headboard, but then bolted forwards when he accidentally struck the sore spot upon his scalp.

“Not even one day,” Kalin grumbled. His sentry stood and began looking about the room, saying all the while in a half-teasing way, “You couldn’t go one day without a new injury.”

Legolas tried to smile for Kalin, to appease his worried sentry, but from the moment Kalin rose from the bed, the Prince’s anxiety began to intensify. He fidgeted where he sat, considering whether to ask Kalin to come back and sit down, but soon enough, the sentry had found for what he looked after going into the bathing chamber. With a towel in hand and a basin filled with a little water, Kalin sat back down on the side of the bed, put the basin on the small table near the headboard, and wetted the towel. After he squeezed out the excess liquid, Kalin then held it out to Legolas, asking him, “Is it truly just a trifling wound?”

“I banged my head against the wall,” he prevaricated again to Kalin, unaware of how effortlessly he changed events to make it sound as if he had been the one at fault for his injury. It was a habit born from years of his taking the blame for his father’s anger. “It will be fine.”

“You did not just bang your head on the wall. Our King banged your head against the wall, didn’t he?” the sentry inquired, not bothering to hide the accusation in his voice.

Over the many years, Kalin had seen for himself the evidence of their King’s unslakable thirst for violence against the Prince. The night Legolas had told his father he was leaving for Rivendell, thereby breaking his promise to Thranduil never to see Aragorn again and provoking the Elvenking into nearly thrashing the Prince to death, Kalin had seen firsthand his King’s treatment of his Prince. Like Faidnil, Kalin felt he was never able to do enough to keep Legolas from Thranduil’s tantrums and castigation. That night those months ago, Kalin had physically come between father and son, he had chastised his King for his behavior, and unbeknownst to Legolas, his sentry had vowed to himself never to let it happen again. For Kalin, as he had told Thranduil that night, his duty was to protect the Prince, even if it meant protecting Legolas from his father. With his Prince already on the cusp of death from despair, Kalin was zealous to keep Thranduil from pushing Thranduilion over the edge.

When the laegel dawdled too long in answering, Kalin implored his charge, asking, “Please. What happened?”

Having known his sentry since he was a babe and with some of his first memories being of the ever-present Silvan guard rather than his ofttimes-absent father, Legolas truly considered Kalin like family, though more so these days than ever before; therefore, he acknowledged with a disgraced flush, “As I said, I spoke out of turn. Thialid asked Elrond for mercy for Faelthîr, saying that enough detriment had come from Mithfindl’s actions. Knowing our King would argue against it and ask for her death, I interrupted, telling them that I also wanted for her to be spared. Ada was not happy, to say the least, though he did not argue otherwise in front of Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel, as I knew he wouldn’t once I asked for mercy on her behalf because it would have made him look petty and cruel.”

Kalin was horrified; his mouth hung slightly ajar and his eyes were wide. The overlooked, wet towel hung from the guard’s hand, dripping water onto his trousers. “I have thought little of Faelthîr. In fact, I forgot all about her. Do not misunderstand me; I do not love her. I was infatuated with her, yes, for she is beautiful and charming, but that infatuation was easily dissolved when I learnt of her betrayal. And yet, I would not have her die for her actions, either.” Shaking his head slowly, the sentry thanked his Prince, “I am grateful for your kindness and mercy, Legolas. I do not know if Elrond would have listened to Thranduil had he insisted upon Faelthîr’s death, but you stood up for her when you had all reason to wish her to share Mithfindl’s fate.”

Faelthîr would certainly never thank Legolas, so it was of some relief to him to have his guard’s thanks since he, too, had been duped by the Elleth. “I knew Ada would be irate but it did not stop me. When he told me never to speak for him again, I said I was sorry. Perhaps because I am not truly sorry, he became even more irate.”

“Is that why…” the sentry began. Shaking his fair head again, Kalin tried to find a way to ask Legolas why he was acting strangely.

Knowing what his sentry tried to say, Legolas explained, “I have never felt as I did earlier, as I feel now with the threat of its return. I am accustomed to sorrow,” he told his guard, which earned the laegel an aggrieved grimace from Kalin, who wanted for his Prince never to feel pain or grief. “Ada said I was weak-willed and pathetic, and proving him true, Elrond thought to come to my rescue, to argue with our King over me. I don’t think I have ever been as mortified. But when Ada and Minyatar began arguing, I was overwhelmed with panic. It was not fright, exactly, but such an acute anxiety that I could not breathe, I could not think, and I could not even see clearly. I wanted only to be away from them.”

Looking down to where water now spotted the cloth of his trousers over his thigh, Kalin asked in befuddlement, “But why would you want to leave Elrond and his sons, and Estel most especially? Surely they give you no cause for anxiety.”

Unsure whether he wanted to continue this discussion, the Prince did not answer immediately and finally took the wetted towel from Kalin. “I don’t know. I only wanted to come here, to be away from all of them. I did not want them to see or to know in what sorry state I was in,” he admitted quietly. “I could not bear their pity – not so soon after having to hear my father tell Thialid how Mithfindl despoilt me, not when our King had only just shown me hatred, and not so soon after telling me that in my times of turmoil I should turn to him for strength. And so I asked for you to help me flee like a terrified child.”

Left unsaid was that when everyone else at the time was causing him heartache, shame, and nervousness, Legolas desired his sentry because he never prompted any of these harmful feelings within his Prince. It did not need to be said. His father, Minyatar, the twins, and Estel might all love Legolas, but they were not Kalin – the sentry was the only one of his friends and family to whom he could currently expose the utter brokenness of his faer, for Kalin would never demean or assault him, as had his father, would never treat him like an Elfling, as had the good-intentioned Elrond, and would never forsake him, as was Estel doing in not travelling with the Prince to Mirkwood. With Kalin, Legolas knew he did not have to hide. It ought to have cheered him to have someone to depend upon so completely, but recently he might have relied upon Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, and especially Estel in the same way, and now he could not and would not be able to do so anymore, not since he was leaving them all behind.

“You were overwhelmed. It was too soon, yes,” Kalin agreed. Nodding towards the wetted towel to try to motivate Legolas to cleaning the blood from him, the sentry continued matter-of-factly, “You are not weak-willed and pathetic, regardless of what Thranduil says. You have suffered through more than any of us can imagine… who has the right to judge your actions during this time of your recovery? Your friends and family do not judge you as you judge yourself, and you judge yourself too harshly, my Prince. If what was most of aid to you was to be free of their company, then I am glad you called for me to come get you.”

With absentminded motions, Legolas folded and refolded the damp cloth while thinking, _Perhaps he is right._ Aloud, he told Kalin, “Thank you for carrying me here. Quite literally, I could not walk on my own but I had to leave. I am relieved my father did not see that, though. He needs no more reason to hate me.”

“Anytime, my Prince.” Kalin pointed towards the cloth in the laegel’s hand while offering with a smile that he hoped would pacify his Prince’s melancholy, “If you wait any longer, it will have dried."

He snickered weakly at the jest. Legolas used too much force to dab at the blood on the back of his head, such that after seeing his Prince recoil from his own ministrations, the sentry stood, removed the cloth from Legolas’ hands, and slid in behind where the laegel sat on the bed. With more care than the younger Wood-Elf had used, Kalin wiped as much of the tacky blood from his Prince’s head as he could, then parted the thick blond hair at Legolas’ crown to see for himself the damage done. With a self-derisive huff, Kalin told Legolas as he moved from behind him, threw the blood-tinged towel into the basin, and sat back down upon the side of the bed, “I know nothing of healing. I’m not sure if it is bad or not, but if Elrond let you leave without following behind with needle in hand, then I guess you’ll be fine.”

Legolas had not truly given his Minyatar the chance to look at the wound to his scalp but being that he didn’t want Kalin to worry, he didn’t bother to correct his kind sentry. At his own mention of Elrond, Kalin’s mind returned to the odd circumstances under which he’d just carried his Prince to his rooms, and now without Ninan’s presence and since he’d been able to educe some answers from his Prince already, Kalin wanted better responses than he’d thus far been given. The sentry would not be satisfied until he was certain he had done all he could for his Prince.

Legolas could see this purpose upon his sentry’s face. Being as he would have no one else to whom to talk soon, and because he loved and trusted Kalin and desired his advice, Legolas began to explicate further without being asked, “As you warned me may happen, Estel is not coming to Mirkwood. And though I thought my father might hate me less than he did before coming to the valley, it seems nothing has changed, and the loving father I have seen glimpses of is gone once more. I begin to think you are the only one who won’t abandon me.” His rambling explanation matching his wayward thoughts, the Prince told his sentry, “I must learn to live without him, without Minyatar, without Elladan and Elrohir… without Estel most of all. I have friends in Eryn Galen, but none who know all of what I have endured, and none who I would want to tell. At home, I will have you and no one else.”

In the obstinately cheerful sunshine, his sentry’s flaxen hair shone like threads of gold. Auburn or brunet hair was more common amongst the Silvan, but like Legolas, Kalin was of mixed descent, though his faer belonged solely to the forest, just as did his Prince’s faer. It was to the woods in the distance that Kalin turned, peering out the open balcony door from where he sat on the bed’s edge, as if he could see the Greenwood from this side of the Misty Mountains. Kalin smiled uncomprehendingly. “It is not as though you will never see them again. You are only going home. In a year, a few months even, you can return to the valley to see your Noldorin brothers and Minyatar again, and to be with Estel. Although I’m not sure why, since our King seems to abhor you as much as he loves you, Thranduil only wants you to be with him while you grieve. Once he is shown that you won’t fade, he will give you leave to travel as you desire once more.”

Although right of this, Kalin made it sound very simple, when it was anything but simple for Legolas. His mouth falling open again, the sentry looked as if he had just remembered something, when actually, he only just recalled his conversation with Estel and the twins earlier about why his Prince had become so upset on the stairwell, when Kalin told the laegel about their going home and how Estel might not accompany them – Legolas was certain that if Estel did not come with them to Mirkwood, then his life was forfeit. Only just now truly understanding this, the sentry took Legolas’ forearm in hand to tell him, “I am a poor substitute for Elrond or any of his sons, but as you say, I will be with you, my Prince. You will not be alone, I promise you.”

“Do not say that, Kalin.” He reminded his sentry, “When I trusted no one else, I still trusted you these past few weeks. You are no substitute for them, but nor are they substitutes for you, my friend.”

Giving his Prince a short-lived, morose smile, Kalin nodded gloomily in appreciation of this praise. Hopping up from the bed, Kalin obtained a clean glass and poured water into it from the pitcher upon the mantel, which he then brought to his Prince. “Did Estel tell you he was not coming? Did you ask him to come home with you?” his sentry inquired, handing Legolas the glass. “He had not decided last night when I spoke to him. Perhaps this is a misunderstanding.”

Dutifully, though he was not thirsty, Legolas drained the water and handed the glass back to Kalin. The Ranger had yet to say it outright, but Legolas was certain enough to argue, “He is not coming. I am not begging Estel to come home with me. I am plenteously pathetic as it is. It is horrible enough I am alive after all that has happened, but I will not add the indignity of lumbering Estel with the burden of my life or death any longer. If Estel has had enough of me, then I ought to let him be. I cannot blame him for wanting to be rid of me,” he replied scathingly, not thinking of how his sentry would react to his self-deprecation. “I would rather die than continue to be a burden to him.”

Kalin did not react well to this at all. The guard leapt up from his seat on the bed to debate, “That is ludicrous, Legolas. If Estel does not wish to come to the Greenwood, then you are not the cause of his decision. He must have a good reason.”

In his outrage, the sentry’s voice was growing louder, and with Kalin’s absence from the bedside, Legolas’ anxiety began anew. He scooted back down the bed and placed his head upon Estel’s pillow, once more inhaling deeply, as if by this he could draw within himself what he might of the human from Aragorn’s very aroma. Kalin paced to the open balcony doors and was pacing his way back to Legolas when he noted how his Prince was lying in the bed again, on his side, with his hands fisted in the middle of his chest. Kalin’s irritation fell away at once out of fear that he might be upsetting his charge.

“I am sorry. I am sorry but I do not understand. In fact, I think I’ve stayed confused for the past fortnight. But Estel loves you, Legolas. He would never abandon you,” he told the laegel. Quickly, the sentry sat back down on the bed to add, “In truth, I see your father’s influence behind this. Thranduil might have rescinded his banishment of Estel from our lands, but when last Estel was in Mirkwood, our King threw him into the dungeon. And what might happen if Estel were witness to your father doing as he has just done? I saw what Estel did to Kane, even knowing that Thranduil might have his head for his actions. In defense of you, Estel might end up in the dungeon, tossed from the forest, or even worse. For Estel’s sake, perhaps it is best that he not go, but I think he worries for your sake, and fears how hard it would be for you to have him and your father fight about you, just as have Elrond and Thranduil done. And look at what effect that has had on you,” the sentry concluded, sounding just as confused as before but never having made more sense to Legolas than he did just then.

For the first time since his father began ranting at him in the corridor outside his Minyatar’s study, Legolas started to relax, even if it was only the least bit. _Any of those reasons could be why Estel does not want to come to Mirkwood, and they are all fine reasons._ But still, good reason or not, the Prince knew he would not last long without his lover near. Eventually, when his grief’s razor-sharp edges were dulled by time, Legolas could imagine parting from the Ranger with the promise of seeing each other again soon. But like his father’s inexplicable abhorrence for him, his Minyatar having witnessed his obeisance to Thranduil’s violence, or having to admit to Thialid the relief he’d felt upon killing Mithfindl, parting from Estel would be too soon for Legolas, but unlike all those things, parting from Estel was not something Legolas could hope to endure. Without the human, the Elf would die. It was that simple. _I have to go home,_ he told himself, seeing no other option right now, _but I would not have Estel’s well-being in danger or have him forced to exist under my father’s thumb as am I, just to prolong my sad existence. If he does not wish to go, I will not ask him._

“You are right,” he told his sentry, his weary heart finally slowing down as his anxiety began to ease. He even managed to smile at Kalin. He would rather die knowing he still held Estel’s love than to die thinking Estel was tired of him, but either way, he would die. It did not frighten Legolas to think of it, though.

In return, Kalin gave his charge a dazzling grin. Like his anxiety, the Prince’s relief was palpable to the attuned sentry, as well, and he could perceive how the laegel’s rhaw and faer were appeased. He promised his charge, “When you are calmed and rested, and after you’ve eaten, I will fetch Estel so the two of you can speak properly.”

He did need to speak to the Ranger, of course, and so nodded his agreement. However, when Kalin stood, Legolas stopped him by asking, “You will not leave me, will you?”

“I’m going nowhere,” the sentry oathed as he eyed the couch across the way. “In fact, I think I could use a nap, as well.”

Eager to have his sentry remain in the room, he offered, “The couch is uncomfortable for napping, trust me. Just lie down here on the bed beside me.”

Kalin nodded with another candid smile for his Prince. The sentry walked around to the other side of the bed, climbed upon it, and then laid upon his back, his head upon what was normally Legolas’ pillow. The Prince rolled upon his side to face Kalin. Yearning as he did for Estel’s presence, the Wood-Elf wished that the human were behind him, curled up around him, with his scratchy beard upon the Elf’s smooth neck. Instead, the Prince settled for resting his forehead against his sentry’s upper arm, while holding Kalin’s forearm in hand, just to ascertain that Kalin would not leave him without his waking and to have the constant comfort of his faithful sentry nearby.

Ready to quiet his worried mind for a while, Legolas closed his eyes and let his tiredness devour his rational thought, dozing though he never quite had the chance to fall into sleep before Estel came looking for him.


	40. Chapter 40

“Estel,” his father instructed him as the Ranger made to leave, “send for me immediately if Legolas has need, or if you cannot soothe him.”

The Adan nodded that he would, for he understood just what the Peredhel meant. He had seen the panic upon his lover’s face, knew Legolas’ sorrow had overtaken his mind and rational thought, and though Estel was adept at diverting the Wood-Elf’s attention away from the grief gradually destroying him, Elrond would step in and use herbal remedies or even vilya, if necessary, to ease the Prince’s body from the grip of his panic. Aragorn’s intent was to go directly to Legolas’ rooms to speak to the Silvan but he was delayed when Glorfindel came to the apothecary door just as Aragorn opened it to exit.

Not mincing his words in the least, Glorfindel crossly asked Estel even before he greeted the others, stepping into the doorway and thus in Aragorn’s path, “Why are you not with the Prince?”

Glorfindel was not aware of what had happened after his, Erestor, and Thialid’s departure from the corridor outside Elrond’s study, so did not know why his advice to the Adan to stay close beside his grieving lover had gone unheeded. Aragorn answered as he tried to walk around the commander, saying somewhat testily to have his devotion to the laegel doubted, “He is in his rooms, with Kalin. I go there now.”

The commander gave the Ranger a peculiar look; he stopped the human with a hand out to bar Estel from exiting. The Adan would never have the impudence to push past the commander, for he respected Glorfindel too much to do so and the commander was much stronger than he was anyway, but upon looking at Glorfindel’s face, Estel could see the commander had troubling news and so did not ask to be let by.

“Wait a moment, then. This concerns you and I would have you here to listen,” Glorfindel ordered decisively. The commander kept his arm out until Estel gave in to his demand and stepped back into the apothecary. Glorfindel then entered the room fully and shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary, causing the ancient, intricately carved portal to slam shut with a thunderous thwack.

Elrond and the twins were still standing together at the apothecary’s long counter; the Peredhel asked his commander with concern, “What has you so riled? It is not often I have seen you this angry without your sword in hand.”

To Estel, the commander looked as he always did. Stately and unruffled, as usual, Glorfindel’s fury was beyond the human’s ability to distinguish, but Elrond and the twins must have perceived it, for the good mood they had acquired by Estel’s decision to take Legolas into the wilds was instantly absent.

“It is not often I am forced to bring you such tidings,” the commander replied. His insouciance suddenly dropping away, Glorfindel glowered at everyone and everything – the very sight of the phials of tinctures and baskets of dried herbs, the neat rolls of bandaging, and the three Elves and Adan seemed to fuel his irritation. Aragorn could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Glorfindel truly angry; he could now appreciate why the twins and their father were shifting uncomfortably where they stood, for when irate, Glorfindel’s frosty blue eyes were as piercing as icicles and his demeanor promised murderous violence. In fact, when he turned his gaze upon Aragorn, the Ranger looked away after only a few seconds, although he felt sure he was not the cause for the commander’s anger.

The commander began, “First, I ought to tell you that after we took Thialid to his quarters, Erestor spoke to Faelthîr. He told her you granted her the mercy of sailing and she would be Thialid’s responsibility until they reached Valinor.”

“And what was her response?” the Peredhel asked his commander. Elrond walked around the long table running the length of the room and to its end, where he was then face to face with the commander of the Imladrian warriors. Unfazed by Glorfindel’s ire, the Peredhel only looked worried for its cause. “Did she agree to sail?”

“Her response? She wept in what we thought to be relief.” Glorfindel leant against the closed door and crossed his arms over his chest. To Estel, it seemed by Glorfindel’s grimace as he spoke that the commander was not satisfied with this solution and would rather have had Faelthîr pay for her trespasses with blood, though he was wrong in this assumption. “She agreed to sail, saying she had not thought to be given the chance to atone for her actions with anything less than her life. Indeed, she told Erestor she thought Thranduil would be appeased with nothing else. And I imagine she is right, if his reaction to the Prince’s asking for mercy in the meeting today is any indication of the King’s true feelings upon the matter.”

Having not heard all that had happened in his foster father’s study during their meeting with Thialid, the Ranger listened intently as he learnt more of what had occurred. Elrond spoke to Glorfindel alone, overlooking that his three sons were in the room with them, “The Elvenking is not appeased at all by my decision, as you say, though he did not debate it at the time. Shortly after you and Erestor took Thialid to his rooms, Legolas and Thranduil left my study, which is when Thranduil let Thranduilion know what he thought of his leniency. Elrohir, Elladan, and Estel were here in the apothecary, speaking privately, and Thranduil used the time before I came out into the corridor to discipline the Prince. Even now, Greenleaf is in his rooms, anxious and grieved from having had his father beat his head against the corridor’s wall.”

 _So that is why Thranduil was so angered with Legolas. Bauglir’s balls,_ the Adan cursed to himself, the imagining of Thranduil pounding Legolas’ head against the wall inciting his own wrath. _That is Greenleaf’s reward for showing kindness._

The twins, with their keen hearing, had been able to discern of what father and son spoke when Thranduil railed at Legolas, but this was all new information to Estel. Aragorn cared little for what happened to Faelthîr, but it did not surprise him in the least to learn Legolas had pled for Faelthîr’s life to be spared. He watched Glorfindel’s face grow even darker with ire. In the forest, when Thranduil had hit Thranduilion to try to rouse him from his insentience, when Legolas had been dying from asphyxiation, only Glorfindel had shown the courage to stand up to Thranduil to keep the Elf-King from thrashing the already battered and dying Prince. While Glorfindel and Legolas were not as close as were Elrond and the laegel, the commander seemed to be personally affronted by the information that Legolas was hit by his father, though he did not look surprised.

 _He might just take his anger out on Thranduil,_ the Ranger mused with an inner smirk, wishing that he could see the commander wallop the Elvenking a time or two, while knowing it would never happen. But still, as interested as Aragorn was to know all this, he did not understand why Glorfindel asked him to stay to hear it. He had other matters to which to attend.

“I thought as much when I saw Thranduil cast Legolas’ hand aside,” Glorfindel replied, speaking of something of which only Elrond and the commander had actually seen. “That is worrisome to know. Thranduil will blame the Prince’s leniency for what has just happened and he may very well suffer his father’s violence again over it.”

He looked to his brothers, who were as confused as was he and just as concerned. Clearly, Glorfindel and Elrond were speaking between themselves, but Estel did not hesitate to interrupt, asking in the effort to bring the commander’s locution to its point, “What? What has happened?”

Glorfindel shook his head, his golden hair glinting like aureate steel in the scant coruscations of the fire’s light. “For her own safety, I intended to see to it that she remained in her rooms under guard until Thialid’s preparations for leaving are complete, just in case one of Thranduil’s people seeks retaliation. However, Thialid went with Erestor to speak to Faelthîr. Erestor left Thialid inside her room, so that they could speak of their journey and perhaps for Thialid to question her, if he might, about Mithfindl, or perchance to commiserate over his death, being that she was one of only a few of his friends. Since she has been locked inside her rooms for days, when she begged Thialid to take her to the gardens for them to speak in the sunshine, and being that you had spared her life and Thialid thought himself now to be her keeper, our kind-hearted Thialid gladly agreed. The guards at her door did not even send for confirmation of permission, as they took Thialid’s authority as they would yours or mine or Erestor’s.”

The three brothers and their father could see where this story was headed. Estel’s hands were clenched painfully upon the edge of the table afore him; he had to force himself to let go before he hurt himself.

Glorfindel again shook his head in disgust but he persisted, “Faelthîr waited only long enough for them to get outside the house before she took off. She carries no weapons and no provisions, only the clothes upon her back. She did not harm Thialid nor did she give him any warning. She merely bolted into the woods. Thialid ran back into the house to find a guard, but of course, she was long since fled. She is gone.”

They stood in silence for a short while, each of them thinking of the possible repercussions of this knowledge, until the astounded Ranger repeated, “She is gone?”

He received no answer. Between Mithfindl and Faelthîr, Mithfindl had been the violent and perverse one. Mithfindl had been the one who sought revenge, who hated both Legolas and Estel, and who wanted to see that the two lovers suffered. To Estel’s knowledge, Faelthîr had been strung along by Mithfindl, her greed causing her to accede to the Noldorin warrior’s plan. Legolas knew better. The Prince knew Faelthîr was the mastermind behind her and Mithfindl’s vengeful scheme, that she had been manipulating Mithfindl’s madness as a means for achieving her own ends, but having never deemed it needed to set the record straight, everyone else believed the Elleth’s insistences of not knowing the extent of Mithfindl’s intentions.

“Do you think she will be of threat to Greenleaf or Estel?” Elrohir asked, directing this at both his father and the commander. Adding to his twin’s query, Elladan went on to question, “Or do you think she merely fled out of fear, or because she was not ready to sail?”

Glorfindel said nothing, allowing Elrond to decide; the Peredhel was once more studying his hands, one of which was still coated in Legolas’ now dried blood. Elrond walked from the end of the table and returned to the counter. He grabbed a pitcher of clean water sitting thereon and poured some of the water onto a cloth. He wiped his hands clean while his sons and Glorfindel watched and waited for his answer. Finally, Elrond told them, “No, I don’t think she will be of any threat to Greenleaf or Estel. She runs because she is frightened.”

Glorfindel came quickly to the crux of the matter, “Then do we search for her or let her be? She has a head start but only a small one. I can have our people organized at once, if you wish it.”

When his hands were spotless, Elrond tossed the cloth into a bin set aside for such things. “Let her be, I think. If ever she shows in the valley, or in Lothlórien or Mirkwood, then we will take her into custody again, but I doubt her ever showing her face among Elf kind this side of Belegaer. If she enters any of the capitals of the human lands, word will eventually reach us, and she can be brought back. Perhaps it will be enough punishment for her; she will be forced to live on her own or in some remote human settlement.”

He was unsurprised by his father’s decision. Elrond was always willing to offer second chances. _Thranduil will not be pleased with this at all,_ the Ranger cogitated, which made him worry, _And Glorfindel is right. In the Elvenking’s thinking, it will be because of Legolas’ plea for leniency that she was given the chance to escape, regardless of whether Greenleaf’s input had the final influence upon Ada’s decision to let her sail, regardless that it was Thialid’s kindness to have given her the leeway to flee._ This was the true reason the commander had wanted for Estel to remain to hear this story, and not because he wanted to warn the Ranger of the Elleth’s escape out of worry she might be of danger to him or Legolas.

The commander nodded at his Lord’s decree and some of the strain left Glorfindel’s face and body. “I was hoping you would say so. If we were to start a hunt for Faelthîr, then I have no doubt this would detain Thranduil in Imladris and also give the Silvan the chance to join the hunt, which might give opportunity for someone to take revenge against Faelthîr. As Thialid said, Mithfindl has created enough misery – her death should not be added to it.”

Elrond straightened the sleeves of his robes in absentminded fretfulness until finally he admitted, “I do not look forward to telling Thranduil of this.”

“I will go with you, if you wish it,” the commander offered at once. The moral support would be welcome to the Peredhel.

Elrond agreed with a smile and disclosed to Glorfindel, “Thranduil is already cross with me. I confronted the Elvenking about his treatment of Legolas, which is why Estel is here with us rather than with the Prince. I spoke without thinking and shamed Greenleaf by taking Thranduil to task when it was not my place to do so, and between my sticking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted and his father’s wrath, in addition to his latent sorrow manifesting from the meeting with Thialid, Legolas became overwrought with panic and grief. He asked for Kalin to take him to his room, undesiring of our company.”

To hear his father say this as such, the Ranger suddenly had a better understanding of what had happened to Legolas. It was at this point Glorfindel gave the Adan the same peculiar look he had shown him earlier, causing Estel to wonder what he had done to earn the commander’s regard. Glorfindel told him tetchily, “I thought to find you in the Prince’s room, Estel, so went there first. As the door was ajar and I heard nothing from within, I pushed the door open to find Legolas and Kalin inside asleep.”

The Ranger walked closer to the exit, his body moving of its own accord as if it desired to be on its way to his lover, but he paused to ask, matching Glorfindel’s edgy tone, “Greenleaf is still healing, as is Kalin, and if they are both sleeping, then it is all the better for their health. Why does this concern you?”

“I can only speak for myself, but if I were to find my lover curled up beside another Elf, asleep in the same bed, I would not take it kindly,” the commander told him, clearly speaking of Erestor, for while the commander had a reputation with the she-Elves, his wooing them had always been for show and not for love. “I would wonder why I was not the one to whom my lover turned for comfort.”

Estel was momentarily struck dumb. _Curled up in the bed with Kalin? Assuredly, this is more innocent than Glorfindel makes it out to be,_ he decided.

“Glorfindel,” Elrond protested vehemently. The Peredhel walked to Estel and laid his hand in the middle of the Adan’s back in silent support of him. “Kalin is his Prince’s most devoted servant, loving him like a brother, just as Greenleaf loves Kalin as his brother. Besides, Greenleaf has chosen Estel. Just because he finds comfort from Kalin does not mean he has turned away from Estel,” the Peredhel reproached gently.

“It is not the Prince or Kalin I doubt,” Glorfindel answered, finally evincing why he was irritated with the Adan by reminding him, “I told you to stay close beside him, did I not? You were not waiting for him, as I told you, and thus you gave Thranduil the chance to beat him. And now you are not beside him when he clearly requires comfort, so much so that he is asleep holding tight to his sentry when it ought to be you offering such care.”

Aragorn was taken aback my Glorfindel’s anger for him and again he was speechless. There was something underlying Glorfindel’s accusations that the human did not understand, some sagacity the commander held pertaining to his own life, to his love affair with Erestor, that Estel did not know enough about to understand. He recalled the night in the library when Kalin had come to fetch Elrond to help Legolas; that night, as Estel and his twin brothers were about to leave to take account of the imprecated items in the valley that might have been used upon the Prince, Erestor had told Estel he was sorry. When Estel had asked why, Erestor had told the Ranger that ‘It is difficult to find love, only to be beset on all sides for its end.’ As in his own irritation he tried to return the commander’s algid glare, Aragorn thought of this and wondered, _Glorfindel speaks from experience, but how so?_

Removing his comforting hand from the Adan’s back and going to Glorfindel now to settle a hand upon the commander’s shoulder, instead, Elrond tried to appease Glorfindel in saying, “Peace, my friend. You are being unfair. Estel has devoted himself to Greenleaf’s well-being these past months, and you know he would do anything within his power to ease Legolas’ sorrow.” Apparently, Elrond knew to what the commander referred, for he said vaguely, “No one can protect his or her loved ones at all times, no matter how hard one tries. Estel is not responsible for Thranduil’s treatment of Legolas, nor is it truly his place to put an end to it,” Elrond concluded, speaking as if he weren’t truly talking of Estel and Legolas at all, but only using their names as placeholders for those of whom were relevant to Glorfindel. “All he can do – all any of us can do – is stand behind Greenleaf while he sorts it out on his own, in his own time.”

Visibly calming himself by taking a deep breath, the commander’s tension left him ere his placid face furrowed into a sorrowful frown the likes of which Estel had never seen before upon the commander. Again, he looked to his brothers to see if they knew of what the two elder Eldar were speaking, but Elladan and Elrohir looked just as confused as Aragorn felt and were looking to each other as if questioning his identical half about what they had just witnessed. Not acknowledging Aragorn or the twins, Glorfindel turned his face to the floor. When he looked up a moment later, all emotion was absent once again and he was the same imperturbable commander upon whom they had all come to depend.

“Now, first,” Elrond began by asking Glorfindel in a blatant effort to change the topic, “is Erestor with Thialid?” When the commander nodded, the Peredhel continued, “Good. Knowing Thialid, he is riddled with guilt for giving Faelthîr the chance to flee. Before we speak to Thranduil, let us give Estel time to speak to Greenleaf. In the meanwhile,” he told Glorfindel, “send word to the border patrol that Faelthîr has fled. If she is spotted and can be safely detained, then they can do so, but it is imperative that she not be harmed. If they cannot detain her safely, they are to let her continue on her way.”

Glorfindel nodded his agreement to all this readily enough, though he made no move to do as he’d been bid. Elrond was watching the commander with his verdigris, kind eyes, while the twins had idly taken to straightening the counter as though they might pretend not to have seen Glorfindel’s momentary lapse and thus save the commander the embarrassment he might feel over their having seen it.

 _What in Udûn was all that about?_ he wondered, running his hands through his hair before he began absently scratching his whiskered cheeks.

As if he didn’t already have enough to worry over, he now had to add Faelthîr’s escape to his burdened mind. And yet, he took his Ada’s belief in the cause for Faelthîr’s actions to heart and did not consider her a threat, though he now needed to speak to Legolas of this, as well, to prepare him for his King’s potential anger. Moreover, Glorfindel’s odd behavior made the Ranger want to see for himself how his lover was being comforted by Kalin. Jealousy was an ugly emotion. Heretofore, he’d had no cause to feel threatened by anyone else’s interest in Legolas, but already today, his lover had eschewed his touch and instead asked for Kalin. He had practically leapt into Kalin’s arms and asked to be carried to his room. Estel would gladly have carried the laegel to his rooms, would be happy to be lying abed with the Prince right now, and wished that Legolas had desired his presence rather than Kalin’s presence. Aragorn could wait no longer to leave.

Dismayed and anxious, he told his brothers, father, and Glorfindel, “Excuse me. I need to see to Greenleaf.”

This time, the commander did not try to stop him but instead flung open the door to allow Estel to leave. He nodded his thanks to Glorfindel for the courtesy but did not look him in the eye.

During his walk to his lover’s chambers, Estel recounted Glorfindel’s account in his mind. He decided of Faelthîr, _I would bet we never hear or see her again, as Ada says. While she had been granted her life, in Valinor, her deeds would become known, and she would have been shunned for abetting the defilement and attempted murder of a guest in her Lord’s house._ Again, without the truth of the events – a truth known only to Legolas – Estel dismissed her from his mind as a threat except in how her escape might warrant another beating from Thranduil. _Maybe she will turn over a new leaf._

In the meanwhile, though, Estel needed to speak to Legolas and he would not be delayed a moment longer. 


	41. Chapter 41

Unbeknownst to Estel, the Prince had only been in reverie for a short while when Estel arrived. The Ranger did not knock, of course, and though he heard no one speaking from within, he felt confident he would find his lover in their chambers. After all, Glorfindel had said he had last seen Legolas with Kalin here. As expected, the Wood-Elf Prince was in his bed, fully clothed, his boots still on, curled up on his side, and half under the blanket. As did he normally look while asleep, the laegel was tranquil and appeared much younger than he did when awake. The sight of his lover sleeping soundly incited the human’s anger to amplify, though, for what set the human’s teeth on edge, what began a fire inside his belly that invoked his latent protectiveness and jealousy, was the Prince’s sentry.

Upon the bed beside Legolas laid Kalin. His nearness to his Prince did not suit the Adan at all. Whether done in his sleep or with conscious will, Legolas’ hand was fisted in the tunic covering the sentry’s side with his forehead pressed against Kalin’s upper arm. It was just as Glorfindel told him. To Kalin’s credit, however, the sentry was atop the blanket, upon his back, and did not return his Prince’s slight embrace in any way, though he had not moved away from it, either. But then, there was no reason for Kalin to have avoided his Prince, and in fact, the faithful sentry would never have denied Legolas this small comfort – or anything, for that matter. Estel was certain the laegel had instigated their nearness rather than Kalin; it did not alleviate his aggravation, though.

 _Do not be an idiot,_ he cautioned himself. He stood in the doorway, his anger miring his body just as it did his thoughts, incapacitating both from moving beyond this point. _You are only jealous because Legolas asked for Kalin earlier rather than desire your presence. Besides, you might have thought little of their lying beside each other had not Glorfindel made a fuss over it,_ he ruminated, fully cognizant that had it not been for the commander’s reproof of him for the situation, Estel might have walked into the room and been glad Kalin was there for his Prince when most Legolas needed him, rather than how he now disparaged the sentry for his complicity in this simple affection.

As far as Estel knew and given that the Silvan guard had only just tried to court Faelthîr over the past fortnight, Kalin preferred females to males. Even though Kalin loved his Prince more than anyone or anything in all of Arda – even above his King – Estel believed Kalin’s adulation did not extend beyond that of a brother or the loyal devotion of a subject to his sovereign. Forcibly unclenching his fists, Aragorn dampened his incendiary urge to stride to Kalin, grab him by the arm, and forcefully pull him away from Legolas.

Again, he soothed himself, _I wasn’t here for Greenleaf, while Kalin was. Would I begrudge Legolas the comfort of a friend when I was absent to offer the comfort of a lover?_

Estel was no idiot. Other than Glorfindel’s irksome perception of the situation, he knew what else was inciting such jealousy now when it had never before bothered him that the sentry and Prince were close. Aragorn was normally glad of their bond, for Kalin could be of service and comfort to Legolas in addition to safeguarding his life. Over the past couple of weeks, when first the Prince had accused him and thus turned away from the human, Legolas had turned to Kalin. When he had trusted no one else – not Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, or Estel, and even the other Silvan, who though he trusted with his life Legolas did not trust with his darkest secrets – the Prince had trusted Kalin. Perhaps it had only been the periapt and Mithfindl’s design for Legolas not to lose faith in his sentry while doubting all others, and even if at times during his involuntary and purposive confusion Legolas had questioned whether Kalin believed his claims of Estel being the one to have hurt him, the two Wood-Elves had a friendship that was longer, steadier, and less complicated than was Estel and Legolas’ relationship.

 _I am being an ass._ Rubbing at his head, which was beginning to ache from the stress of the day, Aragorn stood in the doorway soundlessly for a few more minutes and watched the two Wood-Elves rest. As the human had thought before, he thought again now how alike did the similar Silvan appear, intentionally reminding himself of how Legolas and Kalin truly could have been brothers. Had he not known that Thranduil loved his wife and never would have strayed from their marriage, the Adan might have considered the possibility that they truly were siblings. _And that is all they are – brothers. Just as Legolas is to Elladan and Elrohir._ He asked himself, wondering in vindictive criticism, _Will I now try to cleave Legolas from those whom he loves just to ensure I don’t have to share him, just as Thranduil has always tried to do, as he is trying to do now by taking him from the valley so soon, when Greenleaf’s grief is still foremost on his mind? Am I turning into Thranduil?_

Disgusted with himself and perturbed by Glorfindel’s supposition that the human ought to be the one lying beside the Prince right now, Aragorn wandered to the bed. He didn’t have time to waste on this pettiness, not with Thranduil having told Legolas to be ready to depart at a moment’s notice. If he wanted to speak to his lover, it would need to be now. With more self-control than he thought he could muster, Aragorn softly prodded Kalin’s shoulder to wake him when he truly wanted to shake him. With just the one mild nudge, the Wood-Elf’s half-lidded eyes flew open and his gaze landed upon Estel. Kalin offered the human a sleepy smile of welcome.

“I was wondering when you would show up. It took you long enough,” the sentry whispered teasingly, but to Aragorn, it sounded like an accusation and he bristled to hear it. Kalin tried to raise his left hand to rub at his eyes but stopped when he realized that the younger Silvan’s forehead was pressed against his arm. With a fretful frown for his Prince, the guard then told Estel, “He only just fell asleep, I think, though I’m not too sure, since while I meant to stay awake for a while longer, I think I fell into reverie moments after he did.”

“Is he alright?” he queried Kalin quietly. Still, the urge to remove the sentry from beside Legolas was great but the human was not keen upon waking the Silvan to the knowledge that Aragorn and Kalin were conversing about him as parents might speak about their unruly child.

“He calmed, yes, after some time. Even over the last several weeks, when Legolas had the burden of his father’s and our kith’s welfare to bear, or when he thought you had betrayed him – not even then has he ever been in such a state. Too much is changing all at once, I think, when right now he needs stability,” the astute guard told the Ranger, ere Kalin’s face flushed lightly to be speaking so freely of his Prince, even if to Legolas’ mate. Gently, the sentry slid his arm away from his Prince’s forehead and then shifted to sit up in the bed. With the same devotion he always showed his charge, Kalin again frowned at his Prince as he informed the Ranger, “And his father helps nothing with his insatiable desire to grind Legolas down.”

Aragorn could not disagree with Kalin; the guard had the right of it. He almost said so, but his agreement was forgotten when he saw the sentry reach out to sweep an errant lock of hair from out of Legolas’ eyes. Not noticing the human’s reaction to his innocent action, Kalin continued, “Thranduil told Ninan and I to be certain Legolas ate and rested so we could be ready to leave. Legolas said he would eat when he woke. He is still exhausted. I wish our King would postpone our leaving or Legolas could remain in the valley.”

He was pleased to know at least that Kalin might approve of his plan to invite his Prince into travelling with him rather than going home. Besides Thranduil, Kalin would be the only other person capable of influencing Legolas from agreeing to go – which the guard still might do out of worry for his recuperating Prince. “I will see to it that he eats, Kalin. Leave us, if you would. I need to speak to Greenleaf. Alone,” he deflected, speaking too harshly from his wanting the sentry to go soon ere he ended up showing his unwarranted resentment for Kalin.

He might not have revealed his jealousy, but the Ranger knew he had evinced how piqued he was when Kalin quickly looked to him with confusion. The guard searched Estel’s eyes and waited, perhaps thinking the human might disclose his reasoning for wanting to be alone with the Prince, but Aragorn gave nothing else away. Except for when Kalin had turned against Estel because of Legolas’ insistence that the Ranger was his tormentor, Kalin had always been the human’s ally, for they shared the same goal of keeping Legolas safe and well. Now, sensing something was amiss with the human that Estel did not intend to share, Kalin’s eyes became guarded and his shoulders tensed.

Being that Legolas had only just calmed enough to fall into reverie, Kalin was not eager to have his beloved Prince upset again, and so, because he could detect Estel’s fervent aggravation, because he was not sure why Estel had not come with them earlier when the sentry had carried his Prince to his rooms, and because Kalin did not know he was the cause of Aragorn’s foul mood rather than his Prince, Kalin refused politely, saying with some hesitation, “I think I should remain. Legolas asked me to stay and I promised I would not leave him. Besides, he only just laid down, Estel. Can you not wait for a while so he can rest?”

The sentry’s words – his promise to Legolas not to leave him and his allusion to the Prince fearing Kalin might leave his side – only worked to increase the human’s unusual avidity, which was blatant upon the Ranger’s hardening features. Knowing he was not helping matters but desperate to speak to his lover, the Ranger insisted, forgetting to speak quietly, while his voice was stern and kingly as he demanded, “Leave us, Kalin. I must speak to him.”

In surprised response, Kalin only grew more vexed at the Adan’s dark expression and appeared less likely to do as Estel wished. Aragorn was losing his patience and would soon take it out on the sentry, something he had no wish to do. Auspiciously for them both, the laegel in question finally woke, with Estel’s harsh demand rousing him from his reverie.

“It is fine, my friend,” the laegel said from beside Kalin, his voice uneven. Legolas cleared his throat with a rough cough before he added, “And I am fine. Leave us to talk, please.”

With his Prince’s assurance, Kalin’s worry was appeased at once and he smiled at Legolas and then Estel; his smile faltered at the Ranger’s sustained acerbic expression. “Then I will be across the hall. When you are done, call for me, and I will find Faidnil to bring you something to eat,” the sentry told his Prince pointedly as he stood from the bed and made his way to the door, his underlying meaning vague to Legolas though Estel understood the Silvan was giving him a gentle warning that he would not be beyond his Prince’s reach should Legolas need him.

“Thank you, Kalin,” the Prince replied as he struggled to sit. When the sentry began back to the bed to aid his charge, Estel was quick to intervene and hefted Legolas slightly to help settle him into reclining against the headboard.

Looking somewhat bewildered at Estel’s oddly proprietorial behavior, Kalin said again, “I will be across the hall,” before he left the room, pulling the door to behind him, though he did not quite shut it.

“Are you injured elsewhere, other than the bump to your head, Greenleaf?” the Adan first asked when he saw the Prince grimace in pain. As nimble and graceful as Legolas was, it was also odd for the Elf to have struggled to sit as he had without serious injury hindering him.

“No,” the laegel replied with a somnolent, brief smirk for the Ranger. He explained while rubbing at his elbow, “My arm fell asleep from lying upon it.”

The Adan sat upon the edge of the bed to observe his Elven lover. The Prince from before – the shattered Prince who had evaded his and his family’s affection, who had begged for his sentry to be found rather than endure Elrond or his sons’ company, and who had seemed on the brink of perishing – was now whole once again, it seemed. _Was it sleeping to cause this change, or was it Kalin?_ the Adan asked spitefully. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind of these useless feelings, while cursing Glorfindel for having begun this aberrant line of thinking. When he opened his eyes again, he found Legolas was watching him expectantly.

Aragorn wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed to sit beside the Prince, to hold him as he once might have, but he could not go another moment without speaking to Legolas. Estel did not want to waste any time before telling the Elf, “Greenleaf. I cannot come to Mirkwood with you.”

Swinging his legs off the mattress to the side opposite where Estel sat, the Wood-Elf stood in one strangely fluid, graceful motion. “Yes, I know,” the Elf said simply.

He observed the Prince’s movements, looking for sign that the Prince was more injured than he let on, but the tremors and inability to draw in breath from his panic in the hallway a while ago were now gone. Walking around the bed to the other side, and then to the open balcony doors, Legolas peered outside them. The shadow Legolas cast behind him was long and stilted; it covered the Ranger’s feet and legs. Aragorn stood, also, and moved closer to the Silvan but stopped short of coming close enough to be able to touch Legolas.

Legolas had not asked why but Estel felt compelled to explain. He tried, “It is not that I do not want to be with you, Greenleaf. I want more than anything for us not to part. However, your father and I rarely see eye to eye. We will only cause you strife, I think, by arguing and sniping. And after today, after he has lost his temper and caused you injury, even after all through which he knows you have suffered – well, you know me. If I am in the Greenwood and it happens again, then I will end up in the dungeons for treason after cussing your King or worse yet, paying him back in kind for striking you. I know it is not my place to stand between you and your father, but I don’t think I am resolute enough not to do so,” he relayed to Legolas, repeating what his own father had told him, but also what Legolas had told the human weeks ago when first they had learnt that Thranduil came to the valley, when the Prince had told the Ranger he wished for his lover to stand behind him and not in front of him in this matter.

Clasping his hands behind his back, still turned to face the valley outside the doors, Legolas only repeated with infuriating indifference, “I know, Estel.”

The human felt as if Legolas were assuming significance from the Ranger’s words that he did not mean, as if the Prince presumed more than what Estel intended. Nevertheless, Aragorn did not stop. Convinced by his brothers to follow their plan but because in his doubts he was desirous to have Legolas express that he wished to accompany him before Estel even asked, he mentioned, “Besides, I have made an oath – an oath I have been neglecting. It is time I leave the valley and go back into the wilds of Eriador to keep that oath.”

It was a contrived justification and both Elf and Ranger knew it. The Wood-Elf straightened his shoulders. Despite that he was smaller in build and leaner in flesh, still facing to look out the balcony doors and thus seen by the Ranger from the back, the Prince looked just like his kingly father in that moment. Aragorn knew Legolas was hiding the true effect Estel’s news had upon him, which meant the Ranger couldn’t tell if the Silvan was upset or not.

The laegel responded evenly but honestly, “I am sorry my troubles have caused you to neglect your duties. I should take more care in the future to keep them to myself.”

Stifling a groan of frustration, the Adan recognized that this was already going poorly. Aragorn was a natural leader. He could rally soldiers or his fellow Rangers, make the difficult decisions no one else desired to, plan battles and plot warcraft, but apparently, he could not have a humble conversation with the Prince without ruining it and muddying his meaning. “Greenleaf,” he chided at his lover’s uncharitable assumptions, “you know that is not what I meant.”

“Is it not?” the Elf asked quietly, imperturbably, and without even a hint of emotion, which left the human with the feeling of treading a tightrope across the valley between the mountain’s halves, and one misstep would eventuate with his plummeting into the engorged watercourse.

Not wanting to begin an argument, the Ranger ignored this question and instead again said to Legolas, “I am going into the forest. I cannot go to Mirkwood, not now. It is for the best – for me, but it is what is best for you, as well, don’t you agree?”

He wanted to ask the Silvan to come with him. He felt like he was abandoning the Elf by not mentioning it immediately. Elladan and Elrohir’s suggestion that he take the Prince with him had seemed fine in the apothecary, but speaking with Legolas now, the Ranger dithered in confusion and hurt feelings. He couldn’t force Legolas to choose between him and Thranduil, and as much as he loved the Wood-Elf and wanted not to leave him, he wasn’t sure what to do. He was also quite mystified by the laegel’s seeming indifference. Unable to withstand talking to the Elf’s back any longer, the Ranger strode forward just as the laegel finally turned to face him. Estel reached out to take Legolas’ hand but was denied when the Prince paced back such that he was standing outside on the balcony.

“Why do you move away from me?” the exasperated, indignant Ranger asked the Elf. Elrond had told Estel and his brothers his interpretation for the laegel’s shunning them, but the human asked anyway in rapid procession, “Why did you not want us near earlier? Why do you avoid me now? I begin to think you would rather I didn’t accompany you to the Greenwood anyway. Is this all you have to say about it, that ‘you know’?”

“I desire your presence always, Estel. I would that we never parted ways for any length of time,” the Prince quietly explained, his face once more turned towards what lay beyond the balcony, meaning the human could not see Legolas’ expression as he spoke. He did not understand his lover’s strange behavior as it contradicted what the Prince said to him.

The Wood-Elf stepped farther out onto the balcony, the radiance of Anor highlighting Legolas’ fairness; Estel followed the Silvan but stopped a few steps away. The rainy season was not quite over yet but today was a brief respite from the constant downpour, and the Imladrians were out enjoying the fine weather. From here, they could see part of the courtyard and the bridge spanning the river to connect the two halves of the valley – everywhere there were Firstborn, walking hand in hand, laughing, singing, and going about their chores. Legolas did not seem to be looking at his fellow Elves but at the storm clouds off in the distance – the storm clouds that had spent their rain upon the Elf and Ranger over the course of the last several days but now moved south slowly along the mountain range.

Legolas spun away from the sight and to Estel again. He leant against the railing surrounding the balcony’s short wall. “I love you, Estel. If you wish not to go to Mirkwood with me, then I will not beg you. You told me that I ought to live, that you would remind me why I would want to live. You are the one who asked me for time. And now you tell me you do not have the time for me, that your obligations are more important.”

With a momentarily pained expression, the laegel wiped an unsteady hand over his face before he conceded, “And they are more important, yes, and I know I have already taken up too many of your days with my hardships, with my selfishness. And yet, if you had not convinced me to make the promise to you to endure for a while longer, this would all be over already. It would have been kinder had you done so, I think, for me but also for my father, who believes I have a chance at surviving upon our return home. Because you do not go with me, I do not know what will happen now.”

Unable to continue looking at Estel, the Silvan’s head dropped and he stared at the tile of the balcony’s floor, while the Adan’s mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide in disbelief. Legolas was coming dangerously close to saying that without Estel, the Prince would intentionally die, that he wished to die. The Silvan did not say this as a threat, of course, but as a matter of fact. To hear this hurt the human’s heart. _Faidnil is right. Elladan and Elrohir are right. He may not live for me, as he did after the merchants’ attack, but he lives because of me._ Moreover, Estel desired Legolas to be with him and was heartbroken to hear Legolas doubt this was so, even though it was his own fault since he had yet to say otherwise by asking the Prince to come with him. Therefore, Estel decided he would be honest – more so than he had planned. Legolas’ quiet desperation was unbearable to Estel. Physically aching to touch the Elf, for all he wanted was to sweep his hand over the Prince’s forehead to smooth askance the worried lines gathered there, Aragorn instead grabbed hold of the railing right beside where Legolas leant.

He sighed, dredging up stale air from the bottommost part of his lungs and expelling it noisily. “I spoke with your father about you last night.”

At this, the Prince perked up in attentiveness; he twisted at the waist to look upon the human. Estel knew Legolas would determine his having clandestine conversations with Thranduil about Thranduilion as a sort of betrayal. Already, the Ranger could see Legolas’ anger as it began to germinate. Once he heard of what the King and human had spoken, this anger would blossom fully, the Adan was sure. “Before I knew you and your kith were to leave for home, your father and I made promises to each other. He promised me he would not strike you or belittle you anymore and he would try to be a better father, while I promised him not to treat you like a brittle bauble. I promised to treat you like the Prince and warrior you are. He told me he fears for you upon my death. He said your need of me only hinders your recovery.”

The Ranger left out the part where Thranduil had inveighed the Adan’s character, telling Estel he only cared to keep Legolas alive long enough to enjoy the Prince during his own lifetime. He did not wish to embitter the Wood-Elf against his father any further.

Standing up straight, his face again eerily devoid of all emotion, the laegel inquired, “And what did you tell him in return?”

He shifted nearer to the Elda such that his chest almost touched the Prince’s side. So near were they, in fact, that if he leant forward only a little, the Ranger could have pressed his lips against the Elf’s delicately pointed ear. Not wanting the Prince to flee his nearness, though, Estel refrained from such intimacy, while the ferocity upon the laegel’s face kept Aragorn from making any contact at all. He admitted, “I told him he is right.”

“You picked a fine time to start agreeing with my father,” the laegel claimed with a condemnatory laugh. A frighteningly quick flash of understanding crossed the Prince’s face and Legolas stared at Estel with an unfamiliar wrath. “Is that what he and Minyatar spoke of alone in the woods? Or even before then, I would wager, since Minyatar began this upon their finding us in the forest. My father convinced him of the same and Elrond agrees with him, doesn’t he? That is why Minyatar has been acting as he has. He was pushing me away before ever I shunned him, as you say.”

He had been certain that Legolas noticed Elrond’s odd behavior, and sure enough, the laegel had indeed taken notice. Legolas was not wrong. Even if unintentionally, Elrond had been distancing himself from Legolas out of a fear that Thranduil was right, that he was only prolonging the Prince’s grief by helping him to wallow in it.

“Greenleaf, please,” he began, frantic for the Silvan to understand. Chancing to be rejected, Estel reached out and lightly took the laegel’s arm in hand. To his relief, Legolas did not move away this time. “I have been treating you as your father treats you – and not just recently. The more time I spend around Thranduil, the more like him I become, I fear. The more I buck against how he controls you as both your father and your King, the more I end up trying to control you, to sway you against what Thranduil wants for you, when it is neither of our places to make those decisions,” he tried to explain, harkening back to Faidnil’s advice. “I love you and I always want what is best for you, but it is not my place to decide. If I come to Mirkwood, your father and I will be at each other’s throats – especially so now, when already he has broken his promise to keep his hands to himself. I cannot fix the relationship you have with your father and my presence will keep you from doing so.”

He did not know it, but Estel told the Prince much what Kalin had conjectured Estel might. Legolas’ shoulders slumped, the ire upon his face softened to melancholy, and instinctually craving the warmth and affection of the Ranger, he inclined ever so slightly towards the human – just short of resting against the man’s chest. “I am to go home – without you. There is no choice in that, Estel. There is only my father, who loves me one day and hates me the next. You have not given me the ability to choose, but spoilt the only choice, the only chance I have to persist. But I see your reasoning for it. I understand, Estel,” the Prince assured the human with a tender, fleeting smile.

This smile told the Ranger that Legolas knew he would die in Mirkwood without Estel, but the Prince did not hold it against the Adan. Unknowingly, his grip upon the Elf’s arm became constricting.

Moreover, he grasped what Legolas meant. Without asking, for asking would be too close to begging and Legolas would never beg for anything on his own behalf – for his loved ones, yes, but for himself, never – the Prince was wondering why the Ranger did not ask him to join him in leaving for the woods. Elrond had told his human foster son that not asking Legolas to come with him would be making the choice for the Prince, which was exactly what the Prince now intimated, whether he realized it or not. And yet, Aragorn vacillated still. He needed first for Legolas to hear all of what he and Thranduil had spoken, to know he held no ill will against the Elvenking, even if he did not like him, such that if in the end the Prince chose his Ada rather than Estel, he would know Aragorn held no grudge for his having done so. He had not lied. He thought Thranduil to be right that the King was the Prince’s best chance to live after Estel was gone, but he also espoused his brothers’ and Faidnil’s belief that Legolas’ likelihood of surviving was slim regardless. Sliding in front of the Wood-Elf, Estel was further relieved when Legolas did not move away as he slid his hands around the Prince’s waist, his grip soft and familiar upon the Silvan’s lower back. They would have been face to face, had the laegel’s gaze not been upon the floor.

“I cannot come between you and your father.” The Ranger repeated to the Wood-Elf what Thranduil had told Estel, though in kinder words, by saying, “I will not always be around, Greenleaf. Upon my death, I do not wish for you to die. I know Thranduil lost his temper today, but I have faith he will change with time. I would not deny him the chance to show you he can change, for you to grow to depend on him as you do me, so that when I am gone, he will be your comfort. So that you will live, Greenleaf. I do not want to part ways, but I want you to live forever, as you should.”

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Estel did not know it, but the very Elf of whom they spoke was outside the room. The Ranger had obviously not heard it, but Legolas had heard upon Kalin’s leaving as the sentry spoke to his King in the hallway. Legolas knew even after Kalin entered his rooms across the corridor that Thranduil remained outside the Prince’s shut door, shamelessly eavesdropping upon the conversation the two lovers were having – as Legolas’ King, Thranduil presumed the right to do so. He was also willing to bet Kalin would be at the door to his new room across the hall, listening for signs Legolas needed him being that his father had come to visit after already once this day Thranduil had drawn blood from the Prince. Knowing his father was listening had not changed Legolas’ response to Estel’s explanation, but he wondered what his father thought to hear Aragorn’s advocacy of the King’s opinions.

 _Is he pleased?_ the Prince speculated of his father, ignoring the human before him who stood in wait of a response. _Is he pleased to have won? Does he know his prize for winning this contest of wills is his son’s death?_ With the Ranger’s hands resting upon his hips, Legolas could no longer stop himself from returning the affection. He slipped his arms over the top of Aragorn’s limbs and seized hold of the cloth upon Aragorn’s broad chest. _Ada has finally driven Estel from me. In the end, it wasn’t threats or violence to have worked, but Ada’s maddening logic. I suppose I should not be surprised. Ada was always adept at convincing me everything was my fault even when I knew it was not. Clearly, it has worked on Estel, as well._

For a brief moment, he laid his left temple upon the Adan’s torso, the rhythmic sound of the man’s heartbeat so conversant to him that his own felt dependent upon it, which was exactly why Thranduil was able to frighten Estel into agreement. Aragorn thought he was leaving Legolas with his vicious and hurtful father as a means of saving the Prince, when truly, he was dooming Legolas to death. He lifted his head unwillingly. _It is for the best, as he says, but not for the reasons he gives. I will likely die, but Estel will not be around to see it happen. I have only managed to trouble him. I distract him. I worry him. I have kept him from living his life as he sees fit. These days I have been able to spend with him as his lover are a gift I will not ever forget – not even in the Unmaking – but they are over._ Regardless of what Estel meant to tell him, what he truly said was goodbye.

Ever loving the human more than he did himself, the Wood-Elf accepted his fate. He had often thought his living past the events in Lake-town had only created perpetual turmoil for his loved ones, and he had often thought of how his death might bring them all peace. He could accomplish this much for them, at least. The Prince drew in a deep, trembling breath as tears threatened to fall, but they were not tears of sadness; no, Legolas felt released. His struggle could be over soon and though Estel might later claim otherwise, unwittingly the Adan had just given it all his blessing. Weeks of tension seeped out of his muscles and the laegel finally emancipated his long held breath in a relieved rush.

As Legolas stood there thinking these things, Aragorn watched him closely, his eyes moving back and forth over the Silvan’s visage as if he were scanning a scroll of parchment to read the contents thereof, though what the discerning and shrewd human saw was the Wood-Elf’s placid acceptance of his own death.

“No, Greenleaf,” the Ranger whispered bitterly, his grip of the laegel’s hips tightening. “I know what you are thinking, damn you. I can see it upon your face. Stop,” the infuriated Adan demanded, shaking the Elf by his hold of Legolas’ hips as if Legolas were fading this very moment, as if he might rouse him from his imminent, long sleep in this way. “Do not do this to me. This is not over, not what is between us, and not you.”

Once more, Legolas rested his temple upon the human’s muscled chest, allowing himself a final moment in Estel’s presence, a last sensorial experience of Aragorn’s warmth, the smell that was the human’s alone, and the pure bliss being near his lover brought to the Elf. And then, before he lost his nerve, Legolas abruptly pulled away and wrenched his body out of Aragorn’s hands. Quickly, lest he lose his hold over his emotions, Legolas tried to move out of reach of the man, who already had his hands out to grab him again. The Silvan did not move swiftly enough; the human latched onto Legolas’ forearm, by it hauling the Elf to a stop. If he had wanted, the Prince could have pulled free, but he needed for the Ranger to let him free willingly.

“Let go of me, Estel. I will do as you wish. I will go without you. Just let go and you will be free of me, of the burdens I have brought to you, of the aggravation of my father. You will be free, as you ought to be, as I want for you to be, but you must _let go of me,_ ” he stressed to the human, speaking of more than just his arm. The Adan realized what Legolas meant, of course – if Estel wanted for Legolas to leave, then the Elf would do so, but his leaving would be permanent because he would not live to see the Ranger again – which was why Estel did not do as he was bid and clamped down harder upon the laegel’s arm.

Plaintively, the Adan questioned him, “Why would you think such a thing? After these past months, after only just having earned your love, why would you even consider that I would willingly let you go? Have I not fought tooth and nail to keep you with me? To keep you alive?” When the silent Wood-Elf tugged at his arm, Estel tugged right back. When it was clear Legolas did not intend to answer him, the human said again, “No. No, Greenleaf. Do not walk away from me like this. That is not what I meant. I am not asking you to go home to die.”

In confusion, for that was exactly what the Ranger was asking of him, Legolas did not struggle overly much but just enough to try to persuade Estel to release him. When Aragorn’s hold became painfully bruising, when the Elf nearly managed to writhe his arm free, causing the Adan to leap forward to grab the Silvan with his other hand, as well, Legolas beseeched loudly, “Just let me go, Estel!”

The door to his rooms suddenly swung open and his father walked within without giving greeting or asking for entrance. Thranduil’s sudden appearance ended the Prince’s lax attempts to free his arm but did not cause Estel to release him.

“What do you think are you doing?” his oddly protective father declared as he came within the chamber. Having heard all of what was said, including his son’s call for the Ranger to release him, Thranduil strode across the bedchambers and to the balcony doors, and thus directly to where Aragorn had hold of the Wood-Elf Prince to demand of the Adan, “Let go of my son this instant.”

 _I forgot he was outside,_ the Wood-Elf rued of his father, who appeared on the verge of using physical force to see his demand was met. Not even under the Elvenking’s violent glower did Estel waiver. In fact, Aragorn did not even look at Thranduil; his silver eyes remained upon Legolas. Perceiving his father’s potential for violence and his arm still in Estel’s grasp, the Silvan Prince shifted so he stood slightly in front of the human. The irate King would need to go through him before he got to Estel.


	42. Chapter 42

_Idiot,_ he called himself. His adamancy in speaking to the human had precluded his remembrance that his father was outside in the corridor listening to his and Estel’s conversation, and thus he had not thought about how what he said might sound to his Ada. Immediately, the Wood-Elf tried to diffuse the situation before an altercation occurred.

“It is fine, all is well,” he told his King, plastering a false smile upon his face. Having already suffered his father’s ferocity once today, Legolas was not keen to endure it again, but he would not let his furious King approach the Ranger with even the slightest threat of violence behind his actions. He would gladly let Thranduil beat him to death before he allowed his father to lay a finger upon Estel. With his latent anxiety already whirling and swelling inside his chest, where it would soon enshroud the whole of his being should he not take control of what was arising, the Prince assured his father, “Estel was not hurting me, Adar, he is just upset. It is a lover’s quarrel, nothing more,” he prevaricated, even though he knew Thranduil had heard everything from the corridor and thus knew better.

When step-by-step the King slowly came even closer until he stood upon the balcony with the two lovers, Legolas felt Estel’s hand release his arm, but the Ranger then jostled the Wood-Elf from the way so he no longer stood behind Legolas but beside him, instead. “I would never intentionally hurt Greenleaf,” the human seethed to Thranduil. “Do you not see the irony of your barging in here as if to protect him after what you have done to him today?”

The Silvan’s chest tightened further in fearful anticipation of the dispute the Adan’s words would start. However, the King’s indignant wrath slowly seeped from his face, leaving only a wretchedness upon the elder Elf’s features that Legolas was not accustomed to seeing. Despite his King’s arrogation in prying in upon his son’s conversation and regardless of his father’s earlier viciousness, Legolas had the sudden desire to comfort his Ada. Before he could even lift his foot to move to do so, the Silvan was halted by Estel’s hand upon the back of his shirt; the Ranger seemed to know what the Silvan’s intentions were and was likely trying to keep the Prince away from the King in his never-ending effort to keep the Wood-Elf safe.

“You are unhurt, then?” the Elvenking asked his son while he ignored the Adan’s question. In a gruff tone evincing how uncommon it was for Thranduil to show his concern for the Prince, the King asked guardedly, “I thought from your calling out for him to release you that you were being hurt.”

The steadily rising panic inside his breast began to abate at the realization that his typically ill-tempered father was not taking the bait to engage the human in argument. If he could keep Estel from doing as had Elrond done earlier – that is, instigating the King’s wrath by further insinuating himself between father and son – then what he now told his father would not be a lie. “I am fine,” he said again by rote, claiming in repetition, “All is well, Ada.”

Aragorn had only just told Legolas that his presence in Mirkwood would inflame the mutual dislike and distrust between King and Ranger – Estel proved this the case even now when he snidely interjected, “ _I_ did not hurt him. _You_ are the only one who has caused him injury.”

 _Ai Ilúvatar, Estel, will you hush?_ he rued to himself while wishing he could say it aloud. Instead, he settled for rotating on heel to give the human a wordless plea to quiet. Aragorn looked straight at the laegel but did not give any sign that he would adhere to Legolas’ imploration.

Thranduil spared a moment to glare at the Ranger, his arms crossing over his chest and his chin lifting as if to look down upon the human. However, when the King’s regard returned to Legolas, the Elvenking’s ostensible resentment dissipated and he coughed lightly, uncomfortably, before asking without acknowledging that he was the source of the grievance in question, “And your head? There was blood upon you before.”

 _And so it begins again,_ he told himself tiredly as he turned back to his father. Not every time, but most times his father lost control of himself for little to no good reason, the King would act contrite over his outburst, make vague insinuations of how it would not happen again, and seek reconciliation without conceding fault. Loving his father and incapable of holding a grudge, the Prince would have accepted his King’s apology if it were given; though he had long since stopped believing his father’s promise to control his temper better, he never showed his King this skepticism. _He will pretend to care that he nearly bashed my head in, and then put it behind him while I can forgive but never forget._ Estel took Legolas’ arm in hand again, though his grip was no longer as painful or insistent as it had been moments before.

Aloud, the laegel said with a benevolent smile for the only true family he had living, “It was only minor, Ada. Do not worry over it.”

At this point, usually his father would find some way of blaming his outburst upon Legolas while telling the Prince he ought not to upset his father or rouse his anger. This time, however, the King surprised the Prince by speaking to Estel instead. Thranduil first looked suspiciously at the Adan, ere his arms fell from where they were crossed over his broad chest. The King looked somewhat abashed as he told the Ranger, “I gave you my word, Estel, and broke it without hesitation, and yet, from the corridor just now, I heard you speaking to Legolas. I listened as you defended me to my own son, repeating to him the arguments I made to you, and by this, trying to keep your promise to me, even though I did not keep my own.”

In amazement, both Elf and Ranger were stunned into silence at Thranduil’s candid admission. The Ranger’s hand loosened its hold only for said limb to glide across the Elf’s lower back, where his strong, long digits gripped the Prince’s hip on the opposite side of where Aragorn stood. No longer did the Adan’s hands harshly grip him to keep him there; the Ranger now sought to offer comfort to the stricken laegel. The King looked out to the valley beyond for a moment ere he walked into the Prince’s bedchambers. Instinctually, with the human keeping his arm around the Elf’s waist, both Prince and Ranger followed behind the elder Elf until all three were inside, standing in the ochre glow of Anor’s rays spreading in a cascade of radiant light through the entryway. Thranduil stopped at the fireplace, where he stared into the dead ashes before turning back to the silent human. Watching the Ranger as if awaiting a response and seeing that Estel would not give him one, Thranduil shook his head and grimaced.

Legolas wondered at what his father meant when Thranduil told Estel, “Faidnil gave us his best advice last night and I have already forsaken it. Do not follow in my footsteps and make the same mistake.”

“Ada, Estel is not coming with us,” he began, thinking his father was trying to convince the Ranger to change his mind and accompany them, but also hoping to end this conversation before it could begin, as he did not think he could endure it if his father now began arguing with Estel as he had with Elrond. More importantly, the Prince had not often seen his King look so doleful and he wanted to ease his father’s despair however he might. He pulled free of Estel’s hold – easily, this time, with Aragorn no longer attempting to keep him close – to leave the man’s side. He went to his King and stood before him, not feeling shamed in the least as he lied without compunction or falter, “But it will be fine. I will be fine, Ada, and – ”

His King interrupted by raising his hand to ward off the Prince’s words. The sudden action caused the wary Wood-Elf to shrink back and Estel to stride forward; at his son’s defensive reaction, the cheerless King gradually lowered his hand while telling the Prince firmly but not unkindly, “Be quiet, Legolas.”

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He placed his hand upon his lover’s back, his fingers twisting in the Prince’s shirt. As had Legolas, Estel expected from Thranduil’s abrupt movement that he might strike the laegel. Thranduil was acting strangely and the Ranger was not about to let the Elvenking hit Legolas again; and so, he kept hold of the Silvan Prince’s shirt to yank him back if Thranduil raised his hand in a threatening manner once more. By the minute twitch of the Wood-Elf’s shoulders, Estel could tell he was irking his Elven lover by his overprotectiveness but the human would not be dissuaded.

Although Legolas said nothing further after his father first told him to quiet, the King repeated as if he had, “Hush, Legolas. I am your father. I can tell when you are lying, and right now, you offer lies as comfort.”

Aragorn kept his hand ever upon the Prince, though he now soothingly rubbed along the Elf’s back, feeling each pronounced knob along his spine and the too apparent bones of his ribcage. Thranduil’s interruption was prolonging the Ranger’s anguish, for he was still reeling from his lover’s eager acceptance of what Legolas thought to be his oncoming death. Aragorn needed to finish his conversation with Legolas, to tell the Prince that he wanted the Silvan to come into the woods with him, but that he wanted the Wood-Elf to choose what was best for him. He had been on the verge of finally doing so when the King had barged into the room, but here was the Elvenking, usurping the Ranger’s chance to clear the misunderstanding between Silvan and Adan. He wasn’t sure he could tell Legolas what he needed to – not with Thranduil here – because already Aragorn’s inability to hide his irritation with Thranduil was causing Legolas anxiety.

When Thranduil extended one arm out to Legolas, he did so in a ponderously slow manner, as if he were reaching out to pet a wild animal. Nonetheless, Aragorn’s grip upon the Prince’s shirt tightened yet again and he nearly pulled Legolas away from the King when Thranduil’s hand met the laegel’s face. But Thranduil only swept his knuckles lovingly along the young Wood-Elf’s jaw before he picked up and tucked behind the laegel’s ear an errant lock of hair that lay over his forehead. The King took a deep breath, gave his son a dolorous smile, and then said, “Elrond had the right of it. If you come home with me, I will end up killing you, ion nin.”

This odd proclamation caused the Ranger’s mind to race. It was hard not to take the King’s statement as a threat to Legolas, especially since he had not heard the quarrel between his own father and Legolas’ father, and so did not understand the reference the King made. Instinctively, the Adan yanked the biddable Prince back, shifting both himself and the laegel such that they were just out of the King’s reach. The two Eldar looked at Estel in wonder at his guarding action. Arrogantly, Thranduil snorted in dark humored hilarity at the human’s protectiveness, though it was not malicious, while again, Legolas wordlessly seemed to be pleading with the Ranger to stop riling the Elvenking. The human had only just told the Prince he could not promise to remain uninvolved in the disputes between father and son, and here he was, proving himself right, unable to keep his mouth shut as he snarled at the Sinda, “What does that mean?”

“Always my son’s protector,” Thranduil told Aragorn with another huff of amusement, though he then suggested kindly, “Calm, Estel. You misunderstand me.”

Much to Aragorn’s dejection, Legolas snatched his shirt free of the human’s hold by wrenching his torso to the side; to Estel’s delight, though, rather than moving away, the Wood-Elf fumbled at the man’s side until he found his target. As if he were holding on for survival, as if Aragorn were the anchor keeping him from drifting away in tempest tossed seas, Legolas clasped Estel’s hand between both of his own. When this wasn’t enough, the Wood-Elf brought the man’s hand towards his middle, where he pressed it into the svelte, thinned flesh over his abdomen. He thought the Elf did it for comfort, when in fact, Legolas did so to appease the Ranger just as much as he sought to ease his own anxiety.

Even still, with all of his being, the Ranger suddenly wished to stand in front of the Prince, to thrash Thranduil, or to throw him out, for through the very hand that Legolas held tight to his belly, Aragorn could feel the outrageously rapid beat of the Silvan’s heart; it felt like his own might have felt had he just run for hours up a hill while a gûl chased him. He knew the Wood-Elf was panicked, which he believed was why the Silvan did not speak up. So instead, Aragorn spoke for him and questioned with a calm that belied his gathering rage for the Elf-King, “You just said you would kill Greenleaf. What is there to misunderstand about that?”

It was at the two lovers’ joined hands that the Elvenking looked as he clarified unhappily to his son rather than to Estel, “Listen to me: in time, Legolas, perhaps I can keep the promise I made to Estel, the many promises I have made to you over the years to cease my disgraceful behavior. But I am humbled to admit that I cannot change so suddenly and so absolutely, and right now, with your faer mending, you should not have to endure my failure to keep my oath of being the father I ought to have been and ought to be.”

He knew what Legolas intended to say before the Elf began – Legolas would assure his father that all was well, that he forgave his King, and in some way or another, the Prince would try to take the blame for Thranduil’s actions. Like Legolas, the Ranger knew the cycle through which father and son spun, and so he squeezed hard the Wood-Elf’s hand to distract him from doing so. While he didn’t let go of Estel’s limb, Legolas did glance at him in curiosity at the Ranger’s briefly harsh grip, which is when Estel shook his head slightly in hopes of keeping the young Silvan from accepting the culpability for his father’s actions. It worked; Legolas did not assuage his King’s guilt, while Thranduil did not seem to notice the two lovers’ silent message between them.

In fact, Thranduil was not even looking upon Prince or Ranger but at his own hands. When he began speaking again, however, he lifted his tired and anciently sagacious gaze to Legolas to say, “I thought only of taking you home, my son, to have you near, to keep you close, and to keep you safe. I also thought Estel would be coming with us. I was depending upon him to soothe you while I strengthened you. Together, I thought we might aid you through your grief. I still attest that Elrond and his sons coddle you, but right now, perhaps coddling is preferable to what I offer you. Being that Estel is not coming to Mirkwood, then neither should you come home. Without Estel around to keep you whole, I will only break you.” Clasping his hands in front of him, Thranduil shook his head and shoulders as if shaking off the burdensome thoughts occupying his mind, ere he stated decisively, “You should not come home with us.”

The Wood-Elf Prince was confused but the human was no surer of what Thranduil meant than was Legolas. Indeed, the laegel looked disconsolate, his crescendoing heartbeat reaching a frighteningly rapid, skittering pace, causing Estel to consider, _Is Thranduil telling Legolas that he is no longer welcome to come home, or that he ought not to come home now?_ He soon had his answer.

“I have given this more thought than before, and I want you to stay in the valley for a while longer. Here, you can recoup your strength. You are too weakened by malnourishment and from sorrow to be travelling. After some time, when you are healthy, when you are able, and when you desire, come home to me. For now, you ought to remain by Estel’s side,” Thranduil went on to say. The Silvan’s father ambled forward and again reached out to Legolas, this time to cup the Prince’s gaunt cheeks between his hands. Using his thumbs, Thranduil stroked the Silvan’s high and prominent cheekbones with rare devotion. “I would give all my wealth away for the chance to spend just one more day with your mother. Actually, I would even give it all away to have already spent that day with her, just to have one more memory of her to cherish. I could no more deny you the chance to be with your lover than I would have let anyone deny me the chance to be with mine. And right now, you need Estel more than you need me.”

He knew he must look the fool standing there with his mouth gaping open like a fish out of water, but the Adan was beyond surprised. Aragorn’s own heart began to hammer inside his chest, nearly matching the Wood-Elf’s fretful heart’s beat, while a surge of hopeful gratitude buoyed his beleaguered mind and body. _I won’t have to ask Greenleaf to choose between us. Thranduil has given his permission for Legolas to remain behind in the valley, with me._ The only remaining impediment to his desired resolution to this dilemma was whether the Prince would agree with his father or whether he wanted to go home.

Even still, to stay true to Faidnil’s advice, Thranduil insisted as he let his hands fall away from Legolas’ overwhelmed face, “But in the end, it is your decision, my son. If you wish to travel home with me, I will not stop you, but I think you should stay in the valley until you are well, and then perchance go with Estel. I will be in the Greenwood, waiting for your return, as I always do, though this time, my mind will rest easy knowing now what I doubted before – Estel will protect you with as much fervor as that with which you protect him.”

When neither crestfallen Prince nor flustered Ranger spoke and when the human self-consciously pulled his limb out of Legolas’ slackening grasp, the King seemed to realize his oversight, an oversight that he had seen through while listening at the door earlier because he had discerned the truth of the matter even though the two young lovers before him had been skirting around it – Estel had not yet asked Legolas to accompany him out of irresolute respect for his promise to Thranduil and the Prince had been too proud to ask to be invited. With another shake of his head, Thranduil prompted the two into bridging the divide between them by using his typical, astute bluntness in asking Estel, “You did not ask him to go with you, I know, but I assume it was because you were trying to spare Legolas the distress of having to choose between you and me. But you do want Legolas to accompany you into the forest, do you not?”

Aragorn did not hesitate for a moment ere he admitted to the Elvenking, “You are right; I did not want to force Greenleaf to choose. And yes, I want more than anything for him to come with me, once he is healthy enough to do so.”

“Then why do you not ask him? Let us allow Legolas to decide what is best for him, shall we?” the King offered, the woeful erudition back upon his smirking face, as he knew what his son’s decision would be and had known before ever bringing it up. Indeed, knowing Legolas would choose Estel over him was likely the reason that in his attempt to save his pride Thranduil had insisted the Prince choose Estel over him before the Wood-Elf had even been given the option.

Again, he did not waste a moment more; Aragorn took the laegel’s hands and drew him around to face him. He could read nothing from the Elf’s stoic appearance but he would hesitate no longer. “Greenleaf – ”

By the Adan’s hold of his hands, the Wood-Elf incited Aragorn into wrapping his arms around his waist while sliding his own arms around the Ranger’s neck. Laying his head down upon the human’s shoulder with his face turned into the man’s neck, Legolas did not give Estel the time to finish before he agreed quietly but fervently, “Of course, I will, Estel. I was beginning to think you would not ask me, that you did not want me to come.”

For the first time since Thranduil showed up unexpectedly at the Last Homely House, Aragorn smiled with unreservedly carefree, unfettered happiness. “Don’t be foolish,” he told the laegel tenderly. “I have and will always want you, Greenleaf.”

Under the Elvenking’s forlorn smile, the Prince and Ranger held tight to the other. Legolas’ tentative breath ghosted across the Adan’s throat, his hands were fisted in the tunic in the middle of Estel’s back, and his fair head was pressed so firmly into the man’s shoulder and neck that it pained the Adan, but he did not move away. Instead, he held on just as forcefully to Legolas. He could only hope the Elf’s acceptance of his fate, of his death by grief, was now ameliorated – or better yet, absent entirely.

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The Silvan’s joy knew no bounds. Not only had his father given his blessing for Legolas to remain in Imladris until he was healed, but the Elvenking had also encouraged the Prince to go into the wilds with Estel.

“All that I ask of you, my son,” Thranduil said to Thranduilion, inciting the Prince finally to release the Ranger, “is that you return to me if you are able, Legolas.”

“I will always come back to you, Ada,” he promised at once. “If I can, I will always come home.”

With that, Legolas cleared the few steps between them and walked into his father’s open arms. After too short a time for the laegel’s liking, Thranduil let go of him and moved away. Clearing his throat, the Elvenking nodded as if to himself before he told Aragorn, “Take care of my son, Estel. And when he is ready to return home, come with him, if you like.”

The Wood-Elf spun around to look at Estel, a lingering fear that the Ranger might incite the King’s anger blatant upon his face, but to his elation, the Adan courteously promised, “You have my word.”

The King walked to the open doorway and through it, though he stopped just outside to tell his progeny, “Eat and rest, my son. I expect you to see us off in the morning.”

“I will, Ada,” the laegel promised his father.

The two lovers watched as the King walked from sight. Months ago, when leaving his King behind in Mirkwood, his father had claimed Legolas always abandoned him to flee to Imladris. The King had beaten the Prince so thoroughly that the laegel had threatened his father’s life out of fear for his own. This goodbye would be nothing like that awful night in Thranduil’s study, when the Prince had first realized son and sire understood nothing about the other.

Father and son certainly understood each other now. 


	43. Chapter 43

Wanting privacy and knowing Kalin might still be listening to ascertain his Prince was well after Thranduil left, Legolas shut the door to his bedchamber. Since being told this morning that his father intended for them to leave and then learning that Estel might not be joining them, Legolas had been beset by anxiety. In this moment, the relief from his worry was so acute it was physically painful. He rested his forehead against the solid rock of the wall, his hand still clutching the doorknob, and breathed easily for the first time in hours. Just a short while ago, the Prince had been beset by a hopeless acceptance of his imminent demise from sorrow – one that would have been as unavoidable as his harrowing journey home with his violent father, and one that would have been welcome to him, being as he had thought himself forced to endure his grief without Estel. And now, not only was he staying in Imladris for a while longer to heal with his loving Minyatar, his Noldorin brothers, and soon without his father’s incendiary presence, but also, afterwards he would finally be doing as he had wished to do for months – he would be going into the wilds with Estel, to be alone with his human lover. Legolas’ shoulders shook in tremulous bursts, as one’s muscles might do after being relieved of a heavy burden borne for far too long.

“Greenleaf?” the human prompted from behind him after several moments in which the Ranger only watched as Legolas’ tremors grew into full shudders that wracked the Elf from head to toe.

Determined to gather himself before he evinced to Estel the tempestuous nadir of his uncontrolled emotions, the laegel said nothing for the nonce. He pressed his eyes closed tightly and tried to breathe the warm stillness of the summer air into every quivering muscle of his body. From behind, it looked to Estel as if the Wood-Elf were sobbing, though he made no sounds to evince he was doing so.

Thinking back to the very beginning of this whole mess, the Silvan reassured himself, _Ada is awake and well, Kalin is alive and healing, thanks to Minyatar, and Estel is now safe because I have killed Mithfindl. Thialid will sail, taking Faelthîr with him, thereby saving her life,_ he told himself, not knowing the Elleth had escaped, _and Kalin has elegantly managed to forfend the Imladrians’ questions about Mithfindl’s death, even if only temporarily. Now that Ada will leave along with our people, it will all be over._

His father’s coming to the valley had instigated one of the most terrifying situations in which the Prince had ever been mired; his leaving signaled the end of this stressful period. Legolas’ grief and memories would not be so quickly concluded as were the events that caused them, but hope springs eternal, as some might say, and the laegel could feel the first fledgling seeds of optimism taking root inside his mind and heart. _Estel and I can go into the wilds in a few weeks, leaving all this behind for a while. It will be over._ Alone with his lover, with nothing about which to worry but each other and who would hunt for their supper, Legolas believed that he might heal, that he might have the chance to live. In the woods with Estel, the Elf would truly have the time he had promised the Ranger, the time Aragorn asked for so he might nourish the Prince’s faltering faer. Legolas sighed heavily, brokenly, and thought again, _It will all be over._

Estel placed a gentle hand upon the laegel’s upper back to squeeze lightly the muscles there; he repeated with mounting concern at his lover’s continued reticence, “Greenleaf?”

The Elf grinned, opened his eyes, and slowly lifted his head from where it was resting against the closed door. He did not answer the human. Much like how today the sun had finally broken through the storm clouds that had surrounded the vale this past week, his optimism and love for Aragorn broke through his fearful melancholy. Legolas spun around and threw himself at the human. With a chortle of excitement, he locked his arms around the Adan’s neck and wound his legs around the man’s waist, while burying his face against his lover’s whiskered neck. Taken aback, the Ranger laughed in pleased astonishment. The impact of the Wood-Elf’s lightweight body was negligible but Estel still staggered back a few steps, although he managed to keep them both from falling long enough to stumble to the side of the bed, where he then allowed their tangled bodies to spill onto the mattress, such that Aragorn laid upon his back with Legolas atop him, their chests mashed together and the Prince’s lower half betwixt his spread legs.

“I am no tree, Greenleaf,” the Adan admonished the laegel jokingly, “to be jumped upon and climbed! You could have snapped me in half!”

“I know you are not a tree. Trees don’t have beards,” the utterly undeterred Wood-Elf replied, rubbing his face against the underside of the man’s jaw. He loved the feeling of the human’s stubble against his skin. Legolas murmured appreciatively, amending as he reveled in the sensation of Estel’s whiskers scratching the delicate flesh of his shut eyelids, “Well, most trees don’t have beards. I don’t think I could have snapped you in half, though, unless you are calling me fat.”

Again, the relieved and exultant human laughed. The laegel adored the sound of the Ranger’s laughter. Years ago, like most young children, Estel had giggled in a high-pitched, squealing titter, but after the human’s voice changed along with his now fully grown body, the Adan’s laugh sounded like thunder rumbling in the distance – especially when Estel laughed freely from true mirth or unexpected hilarity. Legolas could feel with his cheek the vibrations of Estel’s vocalized amusement. He pressed his lips against Aragorn’s throat while the Adan told him, “A bearded tree? Have you been eating the red and white speckled mushrooms in the Mirkwood forest again, to have imagined a bearded tree? And the last thing I would call you is fat, Greenleaf. In fact, I’d like to fatten you up a bit.”

A playful nip of the corded muscles along Aragorn’s neck was the Silvan’s only response. Under him, Estel’s breath began to quicken and his strong hands began to knead and skim the laegel’s back and sides. Not even an hour ago, Legolas had been certain the Ranger did not want the Elf to join him in the forest, but having now learnt why Estel had been hesitant to invite him, the Prince was overwhelmed with evermore affection for the Ranger for Estel’s hesitation in asking. Now, Legolas understood that Estel had been trying to keep a promise to Thranduil while also trying not to come between father and son. Thinking that the man deserved some reward for his thoughtfulness, Legolas nuzzled his nose against the dark, wavy hair around Aragorn’s ear to expose it, and then began to nibble the delicate flesh of Estel’s earlobe, causing the man to murmur unintelligible, quietly encouraging sounds, while the Prince slithered one of his thighs closer to the junction between the Adan’s long lower limbs. Just the slight contact of the Elf’s thigh against Aragorn’s groin turned Estel’s soft murmurs into a vulgar grumble.

And yet, a malingering doubt plagued Legolas – a doubt he needed opposed before he could relinquish the last of his apprehension. Shifting to straddle the human’s waist, Legolas sat with his rear perched upon the man’s navel while he ran his hands up the tunic covered torso under him. He gave his lover a brilliant smile – a smile that Aragorn returned reflexively. Nearly whispering, the insecure Elf felt compelled to query, “Estel. You truly want me to come with you, don’t you? My father didn’t shame you into asking me?”

From where he laid, the human slid his arms around the Silvan’s torso, inciting Legolas to lean down to him by pulling him closer. With their faces only a handbreadth apart and the Elf’s cerulean orbs fixed upon the man’s silver ones, the abruptly serious Ranger told the Prince, “Of course, I want you to come with me. I wasn’t sure how to ask you or whether I ought to ask you to come with me. As your father said, I did not want to force you into choosing between the two of us. I only knew I couldn’t go to Mirkwood, for both our sakes, but I couldn’t bear to be parted from you, either. Your father burst in just when I decided I could hesitate no longer to ask you to join me, Greenleaf. I promise you I came in here with all intention of inviting you, even if in my guilt and confusion I dithered for far too long in doing so,” the fervent human oathed to the laegel, his earnest eyes searching the Wood-Elf’s visage for any sign that Legolas did not believe him.

From where they rested upon the Prince’s shoulders, Aragorn’s hands slid leisurely down the Silvan’s back, to his waist, and then back up again. He did not doubt the Ranger’s words though he was not yet appeased by Estel’s answer, and so inquired further, “I don’t understand why you didn’t ask me from the beginning. Did you think I wouldn’t choose you over my father?”

“No, I knew you would choose me,” he answered the Prince, with no hint of arrogance in this surety. The human’s hands once more slid down the Wood-Elf’s back in a feather-light, ticklish touch, making the laegel squirm at the sensation, before they travelled up his back again. “My brothers, my father, and even Faidnil all advised me to give you the option to come with me and let you pick what you believed to be best for you. Even still, I did not want to cause you more distress by asking you to choose between your father and me.”

Legolas pressed a chaste kiss to the man’s whiskered chin, then one to his jawline on either side before he replied bluntly, “Over my father, over my duties as a Prince, over my own life – I will always choose you, Estel.”

An aggrieved smile crossed the man’s face, showing the Prince that while Estel was ecstatic to know his lover desired him above all others, it also pained him to be reminded that the Wood-Elf was eager to trade his immortal life for the chance to love Estel for the duration of his mortal life. But the man’s delight won out over his discomfort, and in rejoinder to Legolas’ blithe but honest statement, when Estel’s roving hands finally reached the back of the Silvan’s neck again, the Ranger drew Legolas’ head down and met the Prince’s lips with his own. It started off innocently enough, with their lips merely meeting in gentle purpose, but a tiny shift of the Elf’s leg against the man’s groin made the Ranger rumble again, and thus caused Legolas’ ever-present, smoldering desire for the Ranger to ignite. He licked at the Adan’s lips, seeking entrance, and Aragorn opened his mouth at once to meet the Prince’s questing tongue with his own. Estel’s hands slipped down the laegel’s back until they cupped the Wood-Elf’s supple rear through the thin cloth of his trousers.

They broke apart only long enough to try to catch their breath, their lips touching and their lungs heaving for the same air in the scant space between them. Abruptly, Aragorn leant upwards to capture the Elf’s mouth again, while by his hold of the Prince’s hips he rolled the Silvan to the side, casting Legolas off him and onto his back, and rolling as well until he was perched over the Wood-Elf. A moment later, Aragorn straddled the Silvan as had Legolas straddled him such that their positions were suddenly reversed – their ravening mouths never having parted. Despite that he was stronger than Estel, the Elf was lighter than the human was, and Aragorn could heft the Silvan around easily enough. It always caught him off guard when Aragorn did so, but it always managed to rouse his ardor for the man, as well.

Aragorn pushed the thin fabric of Legolas’ shirt up over his chest as far as it would go without removing it entirely, exposing the Elf’s torso to his sight. Luridly, the human licked his lips in eagerness of tasting the flesh before him, which in turn caused the roseate buds of flesh upon the Silvan’s chest to harden under Aragorn’s gaze. When Estel bent down to lave his tongue over the peak of the Elf’s torso, Legolas found himself lifting his chest up to meet the man’s mouth. Unlike the night before, when Aragorn had been hesitant as to whether to find pleasure with the Prince, right now he seemed just as fervid as was Legolas. Already, the Elf was writhing his lower half upon the bed, seeking to increase the friction between his thickened shaft and the taut muscles of Estel’s legs. Pulling at the sensitive skin along the Wood-Elf’s chest with his lips and teeth, the Adan ran his fingers lightly down the Silvan’s ribcage.

The sensation caused the Elf to laugh and wriggle; Aragorn grinned at the Silvan, saying as he had said months ago in the creek bed, when first he and the Prince had shared their bodies, “If your ribs didn’t stick out so far, you wouldn’t be so ticklish.”

Before Legolas could respond, the human’s hand was upon the cloth covering the Elf’s shaft, and the retort upon his tongue was forgotten. Instead, Legolas groaned softly. He threaded his hands through the man’s dark hair, encouraging the Ranger by this and the soft, mewling sounds escaping him.

Providentially, Kalin’s knock at the door came before the Wood-Elf or Ranger began to divest themselves of clothing, though neither counted themselves as lucky to be interrupted. Aragorn laid his head down upon the Elf’s belly for a moment and grumbled, “I am betting that is Kalin.”

Out of propriety, Legolas did not want his sentry to walk in upon him in this state, and so pushed at Aragorn’s shoulders, inciting the man to get off him and stand. “You are likely right. Up, Estel. The door isn’t locked.”

The knocking at the door grew louder and more insistent. Not once thinking that his still convalescing charge would be in the midst of carnal activities, Kalin only waited a moment before he forwent knocking and opened the door. At seeing his Prince lying on his back, his shirt up, and the human standing over him, Kalin comically stopped midsentence in saying, “My Prince, what is – ”

With a barely stifled groan, Legolas took the hand offered to him and rose to stand beside Estel. As disappointed as he was to be interrupted, the Prince happily considered, _In the woods, at least, we will have months to ourselves without another soul around. I will need to remind Estel to bring every phial of oil from the apothecary._

His fair face a slightly pink shade, the sentry grinned at Legolas and Estel and shook his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to interrupt.”

“But you did regardless,” Estel responded as he straightened his mussed clothing.

Unaware of Aragorn’s bout of jealousy from earlier, Legolas wondered at the anger he saw upon the man’s face and made a note to ask him about it later. For now, though, the Wood-Elf Prince straightened his own shirt and hair while bidding his sentry to continue, “What is what, Kalin?”

“I can come back,” Kalin suggested, though he made no move to leave and instead walked farther into the room.

Legolas waved his hand in dismissal of the sentry’s offer. Aware that his arousal was likely apparent even under the cover of his trousers and long shirt, the Prince quickly moved to sit upon the nearby couch. A second later, Estel sat right beside him. Although he knew that the sentry must have overheard, else he wouldn’t have come barging inside the room to question him over it, Legolas asked Kalin, “I take it you know what my father said?”

“I know, yes,” Kalin admitted, while having the decency to look abashed that he had blatantly listened in to his King and Prince’s conversation. He came to stand at the end of the bed, cast a glance to the open door, and then stared at his Prince in perplexity. “Legolas, while I am glad your father has given you leave to do as you see fit, you have only just returned to safety here at the Last Homely House and now you wish to go back out into the forest to roam the dangers of the wilds with Estel? Are you certain of this?”

For some inexplicable reason, Estel was riled at the sentry’s questioning of Legolas’ plans. Before the Silvan could answer his sentry’s query, Aragorn answered for him by saying, “It is your Prince’s wish to do so. If it is assurances that you seek, then know that I will see to Greenleaf’s well-being. We will stay out of trouble, or at least as much as able. And we will avoid danger when possible. He will be safe with me.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that Estel will do whatever he can to keep you safe, as you will do for him,” Kalin told the laegel, ignoring the Ranger’s glower and speaking instead only to his Prince. “I cannot help but to worry. Every moment of every day it seems I have been on the verge of losing you these past two weeks, and I will spend the entire time you are gone worried about you, as I do every time you are somewhere that I am not.”

Kalin’s wounded expression given to the two lovers upon the couch made the Prince feel guilty; from his sentry’s confusion, it seemed Kalin no more knew why Estel was cross with him than did Legolas. He had no idea what was prompting Estel’s unusual aggravation with his fellow Silvan, but Legolas did not appreciate it. And yet, it also irked him that his sentry had reservations about his going, as if Kalin doubted whether his Prince could take care of himself, when once he would never have mistrusted him to do so. More kindly than had the Ranger, Legolas assuaged Kalin, “I need to leave the valley. I need to be away from here, away from home, as well, and with only Estel. Do not worry over me, my friend.”

Legolas had the distinct impression that Kalin wished the King were taking the Prince home, even if Legolas did not want to go. Taking a step closer to where the two sat upon the couch, the sentry inquired, “But you will at least remain until you are recuperated, won’t you? You aren’t leaving too soon?”

Beside him, Estel shifted in obvious aggravation; the laegel wondered idly if the Ranger’s aggravation was on Legolas’ behalf or if the man had other grievances with Kalin. “I will not leave before I am capable, I promise you. Now that my thigh is no longer injured, I will be in better shape than before, when Estel and I made our plans for our hunting trip, and there is no danger in the woods that could surpass the dangers we have faced this past fortnight.”

Kalin fidgeted with the front of his tunic, displeased with his charge’s decision, but the sentry knew he could question his Prince’s decision no further without infuriating Legolas. So instead, Kalin sighed in only partially faked relief, smiled, and then nodded his head. “I will wait here in Imladris for your return. That way, I will be near if you have need of me, at ready for when you decide to go home to the Greenwood.”

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, as Elrond has said, but go home if you desire, Kalin,” he tried to sway his sentry.

Kalin loved him, he knew, and worried for him like an older brother would his younger brother, which was why the sentry’s attempt to hide his misery at his Prince’s suggestion to go home failed to convince the younger Elf. He stood and placed a hand upon Kalin’s shoulder to add, “In truth, I think you are due a break from watching over me. If you stay in the valley, you can recuperate, as well, without having to return to your duties at home. And should you stay, upon my return, the two of us can travel home together, as you say. But do not stay merely because you worry for me, Kalin. I will be fine. Whether Estel is ready to come home or not, I intend to return to Rivendell before the end of next spring. I will not be gone long.”

“The three of us.” Both Wood-Elves turned in confusion to look at the human, who sat with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark shadow over his face. “When you go home, I will be coming with you.”

Noting Estel’s snide remark but choosing to say nothing about it, Kalin again spoke only to his Prince, who returned his attention to his sentry to hear the Elf say, “No, here I will be closer to wherever you are. And I swear upon my life and all that I hold dear,” his indomitable sentry warned him, “if you do not return upon the dawn of spring, I am coming out to find you, Legolas. I will drag Elladan and Elrohir with me, if I must, and tromp the woods flat until I have found you.”

They heard Elladan and Elrohir’s laughter before they saw them, for the twin Noldor overheard Kalin’s threat as they neared the open doorway. Just a second later, Elladan and Elrohir entered the room, titanic smiles upon their faces. “Trust us,” the elder twin told the Silvan sentry, “you will not need to force us to help find our missing brothers if they do not return on time.”

“Estel knows the area as well as you know the Greenwood,” the younger Noldo soothed the sentry. He continued, unwittingly repeating what Legolas had intimated just moments ago, “Besides, the woods of Eriador are actually much safer than Mirkwood, all in all, and will prove to be much safer than has the valley lately, so I would not worry over your Prince, brother Wood-Elf.”

Of course, none of them knew how wrong that assumption was and wouldn’t for weeks to come.

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He had always liked Kalin. The sentry cared for his Prince more than just from a sense of duty. Estel knew Kalin was the best sentry he could hope for his princely lover to have. He also knew he was still acting like a fool but so far had not been able to stop himself. The last thing he wanted was to upset Legolas with his jealousy, however, so Aragorn stood from the couch and tried to make amends with Kalin, telling the sentry, “You can use the time in wait to learn from your new twin brothers all there is to know about pulling pranks.”

The confused hurt upon Kalin’s face cleared and he grinned openly at the Ranger. “Then the two of you had best be prepared when you return. I am a quick learner.”

He watched the four Eldar laugh, all of them standing beside the bed in brotherly comity. _Stop being an ass,_ he advised himself. _In a few weeks, you will have Greenleaf all to yourself._

Suddenly, the twins’ cheer disappeared as they remembered their reason for having come. Elladan shared a glance with his twin before he asked the human, “Have you told them yet about Faelthîr?”

He hadn’t. In fact, Estel had quite forgotten about the Elleth, so intent had he been upon speaking to his Elven lover about their future plans. “I have not.” He reached out to take the Prince’s hand in his own, telling the two Silvan, “Faelthîr convinced Thialid to allow her to go out into the gardens. She promptly ran off into the woods.”

To the twins and Ranger’s surprise, both the Wood-Elves laughed at this. “I am not surprised to hear this at all. Actually,” Kalin admitted with another chuckle, “I had thought she would wait until their journey to the coast before doing so, but I suppose she didn’t want to wait.”

“I doubt us ever seeing her again. She will flee as far as possible. I feel sorry for her,” the Prince said, looking out the open balcony doors to the woods beyond. Ever loud in this part of the house, the Bruinen’s waterfall was even more rambunctious because of the recent deluge of rain – the Elf’s words were almost drowned out by the raucous splashing when he murmured, “I hope she finds somewhere safe to live out her life, and that she is happy.”

Estel had not expected this reaction from either Silvan. He thought Legolas might be worried for what his father might say about it, but if it occurred to Legolas that the Elvenking might blame him for being the one to have begun the series of events that allowed the Elleth to escape, he did not show it. As for Kalin, the Adan had thought the sentry would now worry even more for his Prince to go into the woods – the very woods where Faelthîr might be lurking for vengeance.

“Our father is off telling your father now, Greenleaf,” the younger twin informed Legolas, keeping the warning out of his voice, but only just. “There will be no search for her. Ada has decided to let her avoid facing the consequences of her actions – unless she returns to the valley or tries to find refuge in Lothlórien or somewhere else that Ada’s hand can reach. Then she will be brought back.”

The Prince sat down upon the edge of the bed and nodded absently. A sudden and noisy yawn escaped the laegel. He covered his mouth and apologized once done, “Sorry. My nap was cut short. I think I am due another.”

Taking the hint, the ever-cheerful twins chuckled. “Come Kalin,” Elladan told the sentry with an affable clap upon the shoulder. “Let us leave these two to rest.”

At first, the sentry seemed hesitant to follow in behind the twin Noldor as they left. It was only Legolas’ final assurance that allowed the protective sentry the peace of mind to leave, for his Prince invited the twins and sentry, “In a few hours, let us all eat together – with Minyatar if he is available. You, as well, Kalin, since you are now a part of the family. The rest of the night I wish to spend with Ada.”

Elrohir walked to the other side of Kalin, placed his hand on the shoulder opposite where Elladan still had his hand, and gently nudged the sentry towards the door. As they walked out, Elrohir claimed in agreement, “That is a fine idea.”

Once the door was closed, Legolas wasted no time in asking the Ranger, “What is wrong? Why are you angered with Kalin?”

He should have known better than to think Legolas would not have noticed his peculiar conduct towards Kalin. With a shamed faced, Aragorn walked to Legolas, compelled him into standing up from his seat on the bed, wrapped his arms around the laegel’s waist, and pulled their lower bodies together. Although his desire had waned and he now thought to let the Elf sleep rather than resume their previous dalliance, Aragorn still felt a frantic desire for contact with the Prince. “I am sorry, Greenleaf. Ignore me. I have just been jealous.”

Believing the human was joking, the Silvan drew away so he could look at the man’s face. Upon seeing that Estel was serious, Legolas then moved back entirely to ask, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous of Kalin?”

Normally, Aragorn was not one to blush easily – especially so around Legolas, since they had explored each other, in both body and mind, as thoroughly as two people could – but he found his face growing hotter. Once more, he stepped to Legolas and tried to wind his long arms around the Elf, but the Prince wanted answers and sat back upon the bed to evade the man. Knowing he could not explain himself without showing just how silly he was being, the Ranger sat on the side of the bed he thought of as his before he stretched out upon his back on the soft mattress, and then held his arms out for the Wood-Elf. To his utmost relief, Legolas soon followed suit. The Elf laid himself down on his side next to his human lover. He nestled his head upon Aragorn’s chest, just where his shoulder met his torso, and the Adan enfolded his arm around the Prince’s reclining body.

“Estel?” the Elf asked when still the man did not answer.

“You asked for Kalin,” he stated simply while aiming to stop there, but having started, the human found the stale emotions tumbling out of him now they were given voice. “In the hallway earlier. You did not want me. You wanted Kalin. And then I came in here to find you cuddled up next to him. And over the past weeks, even though it was not your fault since you were convinced not to trust me,” he said quickly, hoping to relay that he did not fault the Elf for this, “you have relied upon Kalin and not me. It is puerile of me, I know, but I am jealous.”

Beside him, the laegel shifted closer until his entire front was pressed hard to Estel’s side. In a deceptively calm manner, which told Estel that the Prince was on the verge of becoming angered, he asked Aragorn, “Would you have felt jealous had I sought the same comfort from Elladan or Elrohir?”

The human wished he could say no but realized in that moment he would have. Too slow to answer, the Prince understood what the Adan did not wish to admit, and so with a snicker evincing to Estel that the Elf’s irritation with him was forgotten now he knew it was not Kalin himself but the situation to have caused the man’s envy, Legolas draped his arm around the human’s middle.

His voice growing softer as he gradually relaxed into reverie, Legolas teased Estel, “After a few weeks, you’ll have me all to yourself. Will that appease your jealousy? Just the two us in the woods. No Kalin, no twins, neither of our fathers. Just us.”

Aragorn leant down to bury his nose in the thick mane of flaxen hair atop the Elf’s head. “Yes,” he fibbed, compulsively running his hands along whatever parts of the Wood-Elf he could reach. “Although it isn’t truly jealousy, I think. I am an obsessed fool, I know, Greenleaf, and I want all of you. Your every touch; your every smile. I don’t want to share you with anyone. I am desperate for you, to have you near, to have you happy and well, and to have you want me just as much as I want you.”

Legolas settled his head more comfortably upon the Adan’s chest. Drowsy and quiet, his lover generously told him, “Then you have nothing over which to worry, meleth nin. I am yours.”

The last trace of envy he felt dissipated with the Elf’s selfless statement. Estel took to running his fingers through the Wood-Elf’s hair from root to end, by this lulling the Silvan to sleep. He laid there awake, listening to Legolas breathe. He could feel as the Silvan’s chest began to expand in longer intervals, his breathing slowing and deepening, and his body easing against the human’s form.

Months ago, under the oak tree in the training fields, Legolas had given the man a second chance to prove himself worthy of the Elf’s love. On their return to the valley yesterday, the Elf had promised the Adan time – time to try to pull Legolas away from the whelming sorrow that threatened to pull him under, time to live their lives together, without the scar, without Thranduil’s censure, and without the threat of Mithfindl.

 _Will it appease my jealousy?_ he asked himself as Legolas had just asked him. _It will never be enough to appease me,_ he answered. _I will never have enough of you._ But at least now, he had yet another chance to seek the happiness the Ranger believed his lover deserved and for which he longed for them both. Finally allowing himself to relax enough to begin to drift into slumber beside the Elf, the man realized how lucky he was to be granted the opportunity to have Legolas, to have earned his respect, to have been judged worthy of the Elf’s love not just by the Prince but by the Elf’s loved ones, and for Legolas to want him as well. His last thought before sleep claimed him was the old adage he had heard said before amongst his own kind, and he told himself, _Third time’s a charm. And this time, Greenleaf, nothing will stand in the way of us being together._


	44. Epilogue: Part 1

Legolas kept his eyes shut and his body still so Estel would think him sleeping. In truth, the Elf had not slept well for several weeks. Although he found rest here and there in short bursts and random intervals, he hadn’t enjoyed uninterrupted, relaxing reverie for weeks.

The day his father had given him leave to do as he wished rather than come home with him, Legolas had slept a short while in Estel’s arms before taking his evening meal with his second family – which now included Kalin, much to the sentry’s unending joy. His Minyatar and the twins had been ecstatic that the laegel would be spending more time with them in Rivendell and happy that he would then be travelling with Estel after a few weeks of recovery. Their meal had been a jubilant one filled with reminisces, joking banter, and Elrond’s constant affection for the younger Elves and Adan who dined with him. Whatever divide the Peredhel had tried to place between himself and the Wood-Elf was surmounted; Elrond had no longer worn the distant, worried face he’d shown Legolas the days previous.

After that meal, until nightfall, Legolas and Estel had slept again, which was the last time the Elf could recall having slumbered peacefully. And then, the Prince had left his lover to spend time with his King, keeping him company while Faidnil packed his belongings for their journey home. In fact, he had spent from sundown to sunup with his Ada. Thranduil had been as he normally was – brusque and blunt, though perhaps a little nostalgic and melancholy to be leaving his progeny under the circumstances. Father and son had not spoken further of what the King had told the Prince earlier that afternoon, when without argument Thranduil had relinquished his hold over Legolas and allowed him the choice to stay in the valley. They had spoken of nothing and everything while enjoying more of Faidnil’s venison and mushroom stew, the longtime servant joining them to eat. King and Prince had talked of the laegel’s need to regain weight, of the Greenwood and what might be occurring there now, of the oddly endearing way in which Faidnil sniffed each enticingly fragrant spoonful of his stew before consuming it, but they had not spoken of anything of great importance. Elrond and Glorfindel had told the King already of Faelthîr’s disappearance, but during that night, Thranduil had made only a mention of her vanishing. At Legolas’ insistence that she would pose none of them any threat, the King seemed to have decided to let the issue go, much to the Prince’s relief. He had not wanted for his father to rant and rail at him before their goodbyes. When Legolas had told his father that Kalin wished to remain in the valley to escort him home in the spring of next year, the King had only smiled and nodded warmly at the guard’s fierce protectiveness over his Prince.

For both father and son, the night had been unusually pleasant, with no arguments or violence, with no accusations or guilt – unlike their last parting, when Legolas had left Mirkwood nearly beaten to death. Legolas could not have hoped for a better farewell.

When dawn had finally come, Thranduil, all the Silvan sentries including Oiolaire and Galendil – both of whom had offered to stay to wait for their Prince’s return but both of whom had been gently commanded by Legolas to go home – and the King’s servants left the valley without fanfare or ceremony. Only Elrond, the twins, Glorfindel, Erestor, Kalin, Aragorn, and Legolas had been present to see them off, but to the Wood-Elf Prince, all the people whom he cared for most in the world were standing in the courtyard at that moment, and he had felt a regret that they could not all remain together without strife and conflict chafing his peculiar circle of friends and family. His father’s arrival in the vale had brought the Prince ineffable pain and suffering – most of which had been caused by Mithfindl and Faelthîr, of course – but Legolas could not be sorry his Ada had come. Upon his arrival, the King had told Legolas he wanted to reconcile; in some ways, the two had done just that. Although things were far from perfect between them, the laegel knew their relationship would never go back to how it was before his coming, before father and son had learnt to appreciate each other. The Wood-Elf was glad of it, no matter the price he had paid in the process. With time, the Elf had hope that his father might also be able to control his temper, and that he might be able to stop cowing to it.

In the still night air, with the crackling of the fire the only sound other than the strange hissing noises the Adan was making, Legolas peeked out from under his dark, long eyelashes to see what Estel was doing – the Ranger was sharpening his broadsword with a whetstone and mouthing the words to some song, but not singing them aloud so he wouldn’t waken the secretly wakeful Elf. After eating their dinner that night, Aragorn had asserted that the Silvan should try to sleep. Despite the Wood-Elf’s attempts to hide how little he actually managed to rest, Aragorn knew. He always knew. He knew the Prince as well as Legolas knew himself now, and could tell from the growing dark circular shades under the Elf’s eyes that Legolas was exhausted. And yet, Aragorn did not hound the Prince over the issue, as he once would have; thus far, the Ranger had kept his promise to Thranduil to stop treating Legolas as if the laegel were fragile, but it did not cease the human’s constant worry. Legolas imagined Estel would never stop worrying for him, which was fair enough, since he was always concerned for his human lover’s well-being in return. Furtively, the amused Elf watched as Estel dug through his pack and found the small sack of dried venison they kept. They’d shared a brace of small rabbits that night, which had little meat to them. It seemed the man was still hungry.

Before they had left Imladris, Legolas had been made to eat four times a day – sometimes five, if Elrond had his way. His Minyatar had plied him with fatty meats, rich cheeses, and copious ladles of gravies over thick slices of delicious, warm bread – all of which the Prince had been expected to eat every bite of at every meal whether he hungered or not. However, due to his readiness to please Elrond and to appease Estel’s concern, and because he knew there would be no leaving the valley until both Elrond and Estel were convinced that the Prince was well again, Legolas had eaten heartily, gladly, and had gained back enough weight such that he no longer looked like an Elven wraith. Lean anyway, the Wood-Elf had not gained back all the weight he had lost from the wasting sorrow of his faer and days of going without, but after three weeks of being nearly force fed all the fattening food Elrond could obtain from the kitchens, his Minyatar had finally declared him well enough to leave the valley without fear his malnourishment would hinder him.

When Estel finally filled his belly and put away the pouch of meat, he looked towards Legolas, which caused the Elf to shut his eyes tightly at once. With an inner smile that he fought to keep from showing upon his face, the Prince thought, _Since the twins are well fed and uninjured, Minyatar has no other family over whom to fuss except Kalin. Poor Kalin will soon learn what it means to be part of Elrond’s brood._

During the weeks of his recuperation, before he and Estel had left the valley, the twins had already started treating Kalin like a brother. Indeed, one morning when Legolas and Aragorn had slept in far too long after a full night of leisurely lovemaking, the Elf and Ranger had woken to the sounds of shouting from the corridor. After they had thrown on only enough clothes to be considered decent, the two had flung open the door to find Kalin chasing a raccoon down the hall – a somewhat tamed raccoon the twins had released overnight through the window into the sentry’s room, and one the sentry had woken up to find sitting upon his bed staring at him with curiosity. Kalin was certainly not scared of the raccoon, and so the Prince and Adan had wondered at first why the sentry was shouting and shooing the animal, while over Kalin’s fussing they had heard the twins laughing riotously down the hallway in Elrohir’s room. Elrohir’s room was where by his shouting and flailing Kalin was able to herd the timid beast, much to Legolas and Estel’s delight and the twins’ chagrin, since the raccoon promptly shat in the middle of Elrohir’s floor, with the poor thing having already pissed all over Kalin’s bedroom in the night. By then, the Prince and Ranger had moved all the human’s belongings into Legolas’ chambers, so they could laugh at their friends’ mess being that they were not involved in its cleanup. When finally Elladan caught and released the raccoon into the pleasance, the Noldor, Silvan, and Adan had been shattered from laughter.

As he thought of Kalin and of how the twins might now be treating his loyal sentry, his consideration turned to the Ranger’s admission of jealousy of Kalin. Even now, the wide-awake Wood-Elf again had to hide a smile at the remembrance. Unbeknownst to Estel, the day of their King’s departure, a confused and hurt Kalin had asked Legolas what he had done to sour the Ranger against him. Kalin had feared the Ranger might be holding a grudge in concerns to how Kalin had almost slit Estel’s throat in defense of his Prince, but with a bout of laughter and a promise from Kalin not to mention it to the Adan, the Wood-Elf had taken great pleasure in explaining to his sentry why Aragorn had been upset with him, which had caused his Silvan friend much confusion. By Kalin’s thinking, he had only been doing what any good sentry, servant, and friend ought to have done for his Prince – that is, doing whatever Legolas required of him, even if it was to provide his mere presence as comfort to the grieving laegel. The day that the Ranger had asked Legolas to come into the wilds with him, Legolas had told Aragorn not to worry, that he was entirely the Ranger’s, and since then, Estel had forsaken his foolish envy and ceased sniping at Kalin. Indeed, after Legolas explained to Kalin what was the matter, human and sentry had seemed to grow even closer, as once more they took to being allies in seeing that the Prince was well fed, well rested, and happy – just as they had done before.

No longer feeling Estel’s gaze upon him, the tired Wood-Elf slit his eyes open again to gauge the time of night by the position of the crescent moon. They had camped in a small clearing where the boughs of the trees did not meet overhead, giving the laegel a clear view of the star speckled sky. _It is only halfway to dawn,_ he grumbled to himself. _I should not have promised Estel to try to sleep until morning. At this rate, I will go mad from boredom._ He knew he might also fall asleep by accident, the thought of which served to terrify him into staying awake.

Their own departure from the valley had been just as quiet as had been Thranduil’s leaving. Legolas had made many promises to everyone he and Aragorn had left behind. To his Minyatar, he had promised to eat well, to rest often, and to tell Estel if he felt even the slightest bit strange or if the maleficent voice of his sorrow – the voice that had once resided in the marred flesh of his now completely healed thigh – should speak to him. In other words, Elrond had desired for his Silvan son to promise to hide nothing from Estel, so that the Ranger could help his lover as Estel wanted to do and as Legolas needed for him to do. To the twins, Legolas had promised fairly much the same, while also being reminded that should he and Estel not return by spring, they would be out to find their two adopted brothers. However, to Kalin the Prince had made no verbal promises the day of his and Aragorn’s departure, for Legolas had promised weeks before to return to the valley in spring, and the faithful guard took his Prince’s oath as law. Upon their leaving, though, and contrary to his typically respectful, reverent behavior towards his charge, Kalin had pulled Legolas to him for a brief but meaningful hug, with Kalin’s apprehension to see his Prince leave clear upon his fair face. The Prince only hoped the twins kept Kalin distracted and busy enough for his harried sentry to enjoy himself somewhat, although the Silvan knew his sentry would have a hard time relishing his stay in the valley until his Prince returned. Legolas did not doubt that Kalin and the twins would be tromping the forest flat in search for Estel and him should they be late in returning to Imladris – just as Kalin had promised.

Legolas barely caught himself before he let loose a sigh. It aggravated him to keep his eyes closed because he was truly weary and he feared with his eyes closed he would soon fall asleep. Legolas rolled to his other side, trying to pretend he was merely finding a more comfortable position, but in doing so, he turned away from Estel. The moment he was settled again, the Wood-Elf opened his eyes. Now faced away from the Ranger and the small fire beside which he laid, the laegel watched the shadows cast by the flames as the umbra flitted around the hushed forest before him. He wished he could sleep. He desired to sleep. But with sleep came the dream, and he worried he might not survive the dream again.

The two lovers had often travelled together in the woods and so had a familiar routine between them. Each day, they watched the sunrise while sharing a meager breakfast of the last night’s leftovers, bread, nuts, berries, or something similarly light. They were in no hurry and had no true timeframe for a vague destination with no predetermined path, and so wandered the woods almost aimlessly, travelling along creeks or following deer trails as it pleased them. At night, the two took turns hunting for supper. They often went hours without speaking, but the Elf and Ranger had never needed to fill their time together with trivial chat to enjoy each other’s company. Each night, after eating and if they were near water, the two might bathe or swim, and then sit beside the fire to dry. Just being in the woods was a balm to the Elf’s Silvan soul, but being with Estel was of even greater benefit to his well-being. So far, they had not come across any Orcs, bandits, thieves, or other unsavory sorts, and for the past week, they had not seen another sentient being other than each other. So deep in the wilds were the two lovers that they could safely bet on having the forest to themselves for now. Once they turned west, the pair intended to travel slightly north again to enter the South Downs, which they would cross on their way to Bree to seek word of Halbarad. They had months of travel before them, even after Bree, and while they had no need to rush and so had journeyed unhurriedly thus far, already the Prince was weary, his boundless Elven energy hindered.

And it was because he could not sleep. They had been walking the forest for weeks now; in that whole time, the Elf could find no more gainful rest than a few moments at a time. It was not lost on Legolas that when last he and Estel had been in the woods, when they had left Mirkwood after the winter festival last winter to roam the southern Mirkwood forest to hunt Orcs, he had similarly been unable to slumber restfully. It was during that period the scar had originated. This time, though, he didn’t worry over the resumption of the mar’s voice. It was permanently absent, physically, mentally, and emotionally – Legolas was certain of it. But the dream came to him if he slept for too long. Each time it came to him, the Prince felt certain he might not wake from it – that he might die of despair in his sleep. And so he tried not to sleep. His life was intertwined with Estel’s life. Legolas knew he had already troubled the human with his own nightmares and bad memories. He would not add to them by dying in his sleep, leaving the Adan to bury him in the woods, and forcing Estel to return to the valley with news of his untimely and inexplicable death. It was the least he could do.

It had all started the night of the day his father left. That day, his Minyatar and the twins had finally succeeded in destroying the periapts. Legolas had not even known they had done it until Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan came to him, looking him over, asking him questions, and pestering him to ascertain that the periapts’ destruction had no ill effect upon him. The twins had shown the Wood-Elf a saucer in which laid a fine, iridescent dust, and then told him they were the remnants of the imprecated stones. Unable to find a safe manner to remove their magical imbuement, Elrond had decided to grind the stones into powder, which they would then throw off the falls into the river. In such small pieces that could never possibly be joined, the Peredhel had been certain the dust would be of no harm to anyone, even should they be drunk or land upon someone’s skin, for the stones needed to be whole to work. Indeed, they could have merely broken the stones into pieces, but Elrond had been satisfied by nothing less than making the hateful objects into powder. And after they were done, his second family had admitted to the Prince their worries. Legolas had not known they feared some aftereffect upon him from the stones’ destruction. He had felt nothing and still felt no different because of their end, much to Elrond and his sons’ relief.

It wasn’t the stones, his father’s departure, Mithfindl’s death, or even his recent torment that kept the Elf from sleeping, though all of these things often burdened his waking moments with their sorrow-inducing weight. No, it was Estel. After Elrond and the twins’ questioning of Legolas at that time, Aragorn had tried to distract the Elf from the dredging up of the memory of the imprecated stones and the damage they had caused for the Prince. To do so, the Ranger had brought up again the story of the first time the two had met. It was an innocuous story in and of itself – the tale of how Legolas had saved the young human child from the Bruinen – but when Estel by accident mentioned how the Prince had saved him yet again from drowning in the Bruinen as an adult, the Adan had also alluded to realizing that had not events played out just so that dawn, Legolas would not have been there to save him. Unaware of the import of his words to his Elven lover, the Ranger had moved on to other stories, all of which the Elf had laughed about and tried his hardest by which to be distracted.

But Aragorn was right. It was not a new observation for Legolas, as he had already considered it before. And yet, his mind latched onto this and could not let go. It was as if it had been fate for Legolas to happen upon the Ranger just as he crawled over the downed tree to cross the flooded Bruinen. That first night, while Estel had slept soundly and warmly beside him, the laegel had laid awake thinking of each event that must have happened in order for him to arrive in time to pull Aragorn out of the deluge. Had he found the second phial, had he drunk it or woken from the first a little later, had he not drank any of the poppy tincture at all, had he drowned instead of waking upon rolling over as he floated in the pit’s rising water… again and again, the Elf thought of how one small change could have ended him, and thus Estel, or merely delayed his escape, and thereby still ended Estel.

However, it all came down to an inexplicable, singular event for Legolas – the moment he had hallucinated the Ranger. In his darkest moment, when the Elda had been prepared to die, when the scar seemed to transcend his ability to fend off its beleaguering opinions, and when he had lost even the slightest glimmer of hope in that deep, dank, and dark pit, his failing mind had conjured the Adan for him. Whether by the effects of the poppy, his grief, divine intervention, or his unflagging love for Estel, when most the Elf needed the Ranger, Estel had come to him. Regardless of all else that might have been different and thus led to a different outcome for Legolas, and therefore by extension Estel, his imagining of the Adan was what had ultimately given him the courage to deny the scar, to carry on when he wanted nothing more than to lie back and die, the light by which he had found the means and hope for his escape, and it had been perfectly timed. Had his mind not faltered and given him the illusion of Estel, the real Estel would be dead – it was that simple. The first night of lying awake thinking of this led to another night, to yet another night, until he had gone a week without rest. This in itself was not a hardship for an Elf, but when after two weeks he still could not stop thinking of his fateful hallucination, the tired Prince had finally succumbed to an unwilling sleep. That was the first night he had dreamt of it; since then, every time he fell asleep, he dreamt of it, until he no longer slept for any useful length of time.

Even now, in the back of his mind, behind and under the nebulous, peaceful wonderings of Estel’s nearly inaudible singing and his contentment to be alone with his lover, the Elf worried at the notion; his mind pushed and pulled at it like a loose, rotten tooth. He could not pluck it free. Its roots were too deep. And much like a loose, rotten tooth, it decayed suppuratively in a feverish ache he could ignore during the day, but at night, when the woods were quiet and there was nothing else to occupy his mind, the festering agony seeped into his dreams.

Try to stay awake though he did, against his will, the Elf’s weary body and stressed mind finally gave in to their need for sleep, and he fell into reverie.

_He stood in the mephitic water of the pit. To the Wood-Elf, it was like watching himself relive the memory, though it varied from real events as it continued. He was helpless to change what happened – he could only watch. He knew exactly where he was, he knew exactly how he had come to be there, and he knew it was a dream. Legolas even knew at what point of his being trapped that the dream began, for it always started off with his heart hammering in his chest and his hands sweeping through the bones and foul water around his legs, looking for the lost phial of the milk of the poppy. He ranted, he railed, and he beat his hands against the walls. He shouted for help until his voice was hoarse and he could barely whisper. He even prayed for Mithfindl to come back, to defile him and kill him – just to be free of his watery tomb._

Estel, _he tried to call out, to rouse his dream-self or as if by this, he might warn the dream-Estel who would soon set about the task that would bring his death._ Estel.

_Unlike in real life, in his dream, the hallucination of Estel never comes. In his dream, he floated in the water and slowly wasted away, longing for the human to come to him, to guide him out of the pit, to see his lover’s face a final time before death. Even though he could still have sought the small ledge that in true events he had used to climb out of the hole, because in his dream he did not see Estel, his dream-self did not even think to look for it. Although it was merely a fictive imagining, in his dream, Legolas could feel each moment as it passed, and since his real-self knew that had he not made it out of the pit he would not have made it to the river in time to see the Adan fall into the flooded Bruinen, he also knew that since his dream-self was still stuck inside the cave, he was not there to save Estel._

Estel. Please.

_The Wood-Elf realized that if only he awoke, Estel would be alive and well. He watched as his dream-self withered. Although only moments in real life, in his dream, the time passed tormentingly, slowly by until days were gone, until the pit flooded over its top, until he had long since died from sorrow. His real-self observed all this with complacency. His dream-self floated lifelessly in the water, his bloated body eventually popped up over the ledge, bobbed along the eddies of the flooded cavern floor with his vacant blue eyes unfocused and unseeing of the cave’s roof above, his tangled, filthy blond hair spread out in the water as it swept him out of the cave and into the thicket nearby the flooded pond, where days later his father or the twins or one of the Imladrian patrol might find him. Estel’s body would not likely ever be found, for it would have been dragged along the Bruinen’s swift current for days._

_The Elf was a silent and omniscient observer to all this in his dream, and though bodiless – since his body was now caught in the brambles and would float there lest some animal packed him off before his corpse was discovered – a shrill pain erupted in his chest all the same as he called out his lover’s name,_ Estel. _And again, he pled with a single word, though by then the Ranger would have already been pulled under the Bruinen,_ Estel.

_Even in his dream he did not mind that he had died, but not having lived long enough to free himself to get to the river, to get to Estel, to save his lover, was more than he could bear. The thought of his loved ones finding his swollen and waterlogged corpse did not upset him nearly as much as the realization that they would never find Estel; they would never know for certain that the Ranger was dead and they would have no body to bury or burn to mark his passing. Legolas’ faer was as flooded with desolation as the pond, cave, and pit were flooded with filthy water._

Estel.

_Bitterly, Legolas wept._

“Greenleaf?” he heard and woke at once.

Without realizing it, the Prince responded to the fear in the man’s voice and sat up, reaching for his quiver and bow that lay on the ground above his head. At some point, he had rolled over to face the fire again, it seemed, and it disoriented him as he searched for weapons. Estel’s hands caught his own before he had his bow in his grasp. The laegel asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The human was crouched down beside him, his back to the fire and thus his face hidden by the shadows. The Adan reached out, cupped the Elf’s cheeks in his gentle, calloused hands, and with his thumbs, swept away the trails of moisture there. Legolas only then understood he was weeping but he did not need to ponder as to why, for the all too familiar, unbearable ache in his chest was explanation enough.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over the past weeks, Aragorn had tried very hard to quash his ever-present, overwhelming need to touch the Elf frequently. Before the scar’s withdrawal, the Ranger had often touched the laegel to keep the vociferations at bay, but he had never realized how much his constant caresses to the Wood-Elf had comforted him, as well. Right now, however, there was nothing that would stop him from drawing the Prince into his arms. From his crouch, the Ranger dropped down onto his arse, spread his legs, and then heaved Legolas between them, his arms wrapping around the Elf tightly. Quiescently, Legolas allowed this; in fact, he sighed in reprieve, the human noted.

The Ranger had been lost in his thoughts, murmuring a song he recalled his foster father singing to him as a child at bedtime, when he noticed the Prince had suddenly begun shuddering in his sleep. Determined not to rouse the Elf unless necessary, the human had only watched in wary wonder as the laegel’s shoulders shook. When Legolas began to whine soft and low in his throat, like a wounded animal in great pain, Aragorn had moved to crouch beside him in case he was needed, but still he had refrained from interrupting the Elf’s sleep. Nevertheless, when in his sleep Legolas began brokenly, tearfully murmuring the man’s name, Estel waited no longer to wake the Prince.

And now, here he sat, the laegel gathered to him as snugly as he could manage. One of the Elf’s arms was around Aragorn’s torso but he held the other to his own torso, where it pressed between the two halves of his chest, against his pained and fretful heart.

“I am right here, Greenleaf. What is it?” he now asked the Elf rather than answer the same question for Legolas. For weeks, the Prince had not slept well, but this was the first time the Ranger had witnessed the Elf’s foul dreams. “You were calling out for me. What were you dreaming, meleth nin?”

At first, he thought Legolas might brush this nightmare aside. The Elf had made a habit of trying not to worry Estel or his other friends and family. To his relief, though, the Silvan took in a deep, tremulous breath before he reluctantly told the Adan, “I dreamt I never made it out of the pit.”

Estel could only imagine the horror the Elf had felt to be trapped inside the pit in the back of the cavern. Having been beaten, nearly defiled again, and then left to die while for hours on end sitting in a pool of bones and undrinkable, foul water, with no food, no hope, and in utter darkness– well, such an experience would give the Adan nightmares, too. Running his hands along the back of the Elf’s head, smoothing the silky hair and massaging the Prince’s scalp and shoulders as he did so, the Ranger said as much, telling the Silvan, “As if living through it weren’t enough, to dream of it, also, Greenleaf… I cannot imagine how horrible your dreams must be.”

Legolas surprised the human, though, when he shook his head and continued, his voice muffled against Aragorn’s shoulder as he told the Adan, “No. It was awful but my nightmare was much worse than that, Estel,” the fervent Prince explained, pulling back to look at Aragorn as he revealed the depths of his anxiety, “If I had not climbed out just then, if I had waited only a few minutes more in gathering my strength, if I had looked for Kalin elsewhere other than the river, I would not have seen you trying to cross. I would not have been able to save you, Estel. I dreamt that you did not come to me, that I never hallucinated you, and so I never realized I could climb out. Of all things, what if I had not imagined you?” the Wood-Elf asked, confusing the man at first before Estel realized Legolas now spoke of actual events rather than his dream. “What if I had not made it out in time to save you?”

With that, the Elf lost the control he’d been trying to maintain and wept softly into the Ranger’s shoulder. Legolas firmly wound both of his arms around the man, fisting his hands into the tunic at the Ranger’s back and pulling him hard into his embrace. This was not a new revelation to the human, of course, as he had thought of this the first time Legolas told him the story of his time in the pit in the cave. He even vaguely recalled bringing it up to Legolas several weeks ago in the valley, though Estel had long since put it out of his mind, thinking it just a lucky coincidence. Obviously, Legolas had not. Mentally kicking himself as he quickly realized the Elf’s sleeplessness had started around the same time he had jokingly mentioned this to Legolas, the Ranger wondered, _Why would he worry over this? Perhaps it isn’t this event in particular, but some overall anxiety over my death that is causing these dreams to surface?_

He alternated between rubbing circles into the Prince’s back, threading his fingers through Legolas’ hair, and pressing his lips against the Elf’s forehead, while trying to assuage the Elf, “I am here now, Greenleaf. And you did get out. You saved me. We are both alive and we are both well, here together, meleth nin. It was nothing more than a dream.”

“I know,” the Wood-Elf whispered. “I knew it was a dream even while dreaming, but it felt real. Each time, I know it is a dream, but each time, I feel your death and want to die from the sorrow it brings.”

Aragorn felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over him. A dream of Estel dying was nearly enough to cause the Elf to let his faer flee his rhaw… _while sleeping_. Frightened but unwilling to let the Prince see this, he tried not to show the effect the Elf’s admission had upon him, for it also reminded Estel that when his actual death came – whether years from now of old age or hours from now by accident or battle – Legolas would not want to live beyond it.

He soothed the Elf, “It is your faer’s sorrow, finding an outlet. That is all. These dreams will end; I know they will, Greenleaf.”

Against his shoulder, he felt the Elf nod his head in miserable, uneager agreement. _So this is why he hasn’t been sleeping. Much like when he dreamt of the merchants attacking him in Lake-town, Greenleaf is reliving his torment and pain, but focusing upon my impending death rather than his own suffering._ As had Legolas before falling asleep, the Ranger wondered, _Greenleaf dreamt then because he refused his grief, which is how the scar was born, according to Ada. Let it not be happening again, please,_ he pled to the stars in the clear sky above. _Do not let the scar awaken._

“You are right, of course. I’m sorry. I’m fine, I promise. It was only a dream,” the Elf told the Adan, and Estel knew that the Prince was not lying, that the Elf was feeling better now. His fear for Legolas declined. Oddly enough, the Prince chuckled lightly, his hold of Aragorn loosing but not releasing, as he explained, “But so were you, I guess, when you came to me in the pit. I dreamt you were there with me in the cave when you weren’t, which is how I managed to climb out to save you from the flooded Bruinen, and now, in my dreams, you are not there and the both of us die. Either way, it all hinged upon a dream.”

Aragorn wasn’t sure if it was the Elf’s tiredness, his sorrow, or the natural confusion that often comes to one after waking from a vivid dream, but Legolas was hardly making sense to the Ranger. It mattered little. He cared more to calm the Elf now than to understand him. And so, after scooting along the ground and placing his back against the tree trunk nearby, the human then reached out in welcome for Legolas. The Elf complied eagerly, allowing the Ranger to settle the Prince into lying upon his side between the man’s legs, his head resting against the Ranger’s chest, while he continued to comfort the Wood-Elf through his touch, by his gently pressed busses to the Prince’s head and hair, and with the snug hold he had upon him. It seemed to be working. Legolas was quiet, his weeping stopped, and his breathing once more regular.

“I am here. You saved me,” he repeated in a murmur to the Elf, and then again, saying, “I am here, Greenleaf.”

But the Wood-Elf was not listening. Tight inside his lover’s arms, Legolas had fallen back into sleep. Aragorn could not help but to smile down at the exhausted Silvan. If it took his holding Legolas for the Prince to sleep peacefully, to imprint his presence upon the Elf’s tired body, and thereby ease Legolas’ fraught mind during his slumber, then Estel would relish every moment of it. 


	45. Epilogue: Part 2

Of course, it was not the same location as the one of which he had dreamt those many weeks ago, right after the periapt was removed, but to Legolas, no finer place could Estel have found for them to camp. The Wood-Elf laid back upon the bedroll that was spread over the soft, whispery grass and stared up into the autumnal night sky, where Ithil seemed to take up the whole of the dark mantle of the heavens. Late summer was now early fall, though the leaves were only just beginning to change color. They had been in the woods for weeks now and the Elf could not have been more relaxed than he was at this moment. For the first time in months – in years perhaps – Legolas was truly happy.

The smell of cooking venison competed with the pungent odor of the fire over which it roasted. The moonlight played lambently upon the softly rippling lake’s surface. From it, Estel walked, dripping wet and naked from head to toe. In unhidden, lewd appreciation, Legolas watched his human lover amble to him. He’d already had his bath while Estel was hunting and had swam in the clear, cool lake until he had seen the Ranger return with the small, field dressed doe slung over his shoulder. As was their way, since Estel hunted supper, Legolas cooked it, which gave the human the chance to bathe in the lake while the Elf took care of the spitted haunch of the doe. Now, the dripping fat sizzled upon the embers and rocks of the fire pit, and soon they would have a hearty meal. The rest of the meat they would cook in the morning or smoke or dry to take with them. For the foreseeable future, the two intended to stay here, beside the lake. As long as they made it to Bree before the first snow, they had supplies enough to last them, while the surrounding woods teemed with game and the lake with fish. They would not go hungry.

The Ranger crouched down for a moment to adjust the spit upon which the haunch of venison was roasting, shamelessly displaying his bared body as he did so, ere he came to Legolas. Flopping down with a hum of contentment, the man spread out beside the Wood-Elf, saying nothing but giving his Elven lover a smile. Legolas moved to be closer to the man such that he rested his head upon the Adan’s belly. Wet and firm under his cheek, the flesh of Estel’s stomach and legs rose up in goose bumps as Legolas’ breath wafted across it.

The morning after the night Legolas had nearly faded in his sleep from his dream of the man dying in the Bruinen, Estel had pled with Legolas not to hide his grief from the human anymore. Chastised and aware that he already felt better just from having told Aragorn about the vile dream, the Elf had promised to stop trying to save Estel from worry by concealing the symptoms of his sorrowed faer. He knew, as did Aragorn, that his reticence and reluctance to seek aid during this trying time was similar to how he had done the same the first time around, which had eventuated in the formation of the scar’s voice. The dream had stopped tormenting the Silvan every time he slept; the human had seen to this by providing for the Elf his palliative and remindful, corporeal presence each time Legolas took rest. It was a temporary solution, since Aragorn could not feasibly be with Legolas every time he needed to sleep, but for now, while the Elf’s grief was still great even though it was slowly abating, this solution would make do. Besides which, the Silvan was positive his human lover took great enjoyment from holding him, stroking his hair and face, and whispering platitudes to the sleeping Prince.

The once vociferous manifestation of his grief had still not returned and Legolas was certain that it never would. His body was hale, his mind was sound, and though he would be lying to say he felt no sorrow, it no longer inspired or overwhelmed his every thought and emotion. Only his dread of losing Estel remained, but Legolas was determined not to ruin his short time with the Ranger by worrying over its end – both the time he was able to traverse the woods with the Adan and the time he had with Estel before Estel’s mortal life was over. When Aragorn died, the Prince would die with him – Legolas was comforted with this.

Other than reminding the Elf not to hide his woes from him, Estel continued to keep his promise to Thranduil. Each day, the two relaxed further into the easy companionship they’d had before Legolas’ torment in Lake-town, although they were much closer than before, since they were now lovers, as well. In fact, the Prince no longer dreaded the end of their time in the woods. Estel had promised he was going to Mirkwood with the laegel, but even if he did not, Legolas was beginning to believe that by the end of their wayward journey through Eriador he would no longer be as dependent upon the Ranger as was he now. He would always desire the Adan’s presence, but he was confident he would no longer require it for his survival. Only time would tell if his optimism proved true.

Estel’s fingers began to comb through the Elf’s wet hair in distracted affection. Playfully, the Wood-Elf drew in a deep breath and blew out, aiming for the man’s lower navel, where the dark hair around Aragorn’s shaft was beaded with water. For his efforts, the Prince earned a groan from Estel. He moved his head slightly lower down the human’s torso until the side of his head was lying upon Aragorn’s hip; from this close, he could aim better, and so blew out again, his breath fanning over the Adan’s quickly filling shaft.

For the first time in hours, Estel spoke, telling the Elf, “If we have dessert now, you’ll ruin your appetite for dinner.”

The Wood-Elf laughed wholeheartedly, lifted his head to look at his lover’s face, and then rose entirely when he saw Aragorn’s equally aroused, lascivious smirk. Supper may be cooking, but Legolas wanted to whet his appetite beforehand. He promised the Adan, “You can have me for dessert after, as well, but I can’t wait that long. I’m hungry now. Just a bite to tide me over,” the Elf mischievously told the Adan.

At this, the willing human was thoroughly enchanted and tried to sit. Placing one long-fingered, pale hand upon the man’s belly, where the skin was growing ever darker from the hours they spent lying around nude or walking shirtless under the sun, Legolas kept Estel from rising. His prurient smile growing, Aragorn gamely laid back and folded his hands under his neck to elevate his head so that he could watch what the Prince intended to do. Legolas had put his trousers back on after his bath but had left off his boots and shirt – he quickly shucked off his trousers so he was just as bare was Estel.

He started at the man’s toes. Legolas’ fingers swirled around each one, between them, up the arch of each foot to Estel’s ankle, and then along his well-made calves. Here, Legolas replaced one hand with his mouth, moving his lips and tongue over the muscled flesh of the Adan’s lower leg while his hand moved similarly upon the other of the Adan’s legs. With a slight moan, Aragorn gave in to the slow, methodical adulation of the Elf’s attentions but rose to recline upon his elbows, keeping his torso slightly off the ground so he could better watch Legolas. The Elf made his way upwards, nipping the flesh of the man’s inner thigh before soothing it with his tongue. Aragorn reflexively spread his legs to give Legolas access, but once reaching the delicate fold of skin where Estel’s thigh joined with his torso, the Elf ignored the man’s shaft. Instead, he continued up, his hands lightly massaging the human’s muscled belly and sides even as his mouth pressed soft, worshipping kisses and playful bites up the trail of dark hair above Aragorn’s shaft, over his navel, and to his belly button. Here, Legolas delved his tongue inside the indent, his gaze upon Estel, who watched with his mouth slightly agape and his breathing harsh. Intentionally, as he shifted to reach the human’s chest, Legolas slid his own chest between the Adan’s legs – in response, Aragorn lifted his hips to increase the pressure upon his sensitized, eager shaft. The sensation of the man’s arousal sliding along his torso made the Elf shiver in anticipation of the pleasure he would soon find from his lover’s shaft.

With deft flicks of his tongue, Legolas incited the points of dark flesh upon Estel’s chest to harden, the skin around them tightening at the Wood-Elf’s actions. Back and forth he went from one to the other, his hands roaming along the muscled flesh of the man’s body, tugging playfully at the dark hair that peppered Aragorn’s chest, gripping his thick biceps just to feel the strength there, and occasionally dipping lower along Estel’s torso to sweep the flesh around the human’s shaft, though he still avoided touching it with his hands directly. When finally he moved upwards yet again, his tongue licking along the Ranger’s collarbone before rambling up his neck to his whiskered chin, Aragorn could not help himself and reached out, grabbing the Wood-Elf by the sides of his face to compel Legolas’ mouth into meeting his own. The sudden, needy, and forceful kiss Estel gave him caused the Elf to forget that he had intended to take his time with the human. Their teeth, tongues, and lips clashing for dominance, Aragorn soon won out over Legolas by playing dirty – the Adan skimmed his hand down between their bodies and took hold of the laegel’s cock, his fingers whispering over the Elf’s fair but lust-flushed skin.

Still determined to taste his lover, the Silvan grudgingly broke away from the tantalizing kiss and the man’s feathery caresses and shifted until he was between Aragorn’s legs. As if famished for the Ranger, Legolas did not waste any more time teasing the human but enveloped the head of Estel’s cock inside his impatient mouth, his lithe tongue laving languidly around the Adan’s arousal. With an effortlessness that came from loving fervor and much practice over the past several weeks, Legolas rapidly worked the human’s shaft farther into his mouth and down his gullet, until his lips met with the quivering skin of Aragorn’s navel. As he moaned his appreciation, Estel pushed Legolas’ damp hair aside so that he could see his lover’s face as he swallowed the man’s cock in its entirety. Slowly and then quickly, and then slowing once again, the Elf roused the Adan’s desire until he could taste the heady, salty flavor of Aragorn’s impending completion. And then, he stopped, letting the man’s shaft fall from his lips and sitting back on his heels. Estel took this lull as his chance. He sat up, seized the Silvan’s shoulders, and pushed the laegel backwards until a surprised and laughing Legolas was upon his back on the soft grass beside their bedroll. Snatching the strap of his bag, the Ranger rummaged inside a front pocket for the phial of oil therein.

 _We should have brought more oil,_ the laegel thought vaguely as he watched Aragorn uncap the phial. They had already used three phials and had only three more, including the one that the Ranger now emptied into the palm of his hand. _I wonder if we will be able to find any in Bree._

Estel then pushed askance the Elf’s thighs, where he pressed a kiss to the inside of each one ere running his lathered finger between the halves of the Silvan’s spread, shapely, and taut arse. Already, his own shaft was turgid just from having the taste of the man upon his lips, but once Aragorn took the Elf’s cock into his mouth, Legolas nearly spent his seed just then, for at that same moment, Estel slid a finger inside the Wood-Elf’s breach. His hips pitching up from the ground, he then shoved his rear downwards onto the finger impaling his innermost flesh. At once, the Ranger added a second finger. Gone were the days when Legolas needed Estel to prepare his opening for long lengths of time; already he was zealous for the man to enter him. Curling his fingertips slightly within the Prince’s body, Estel stroked hard against the slight swell inside the Wood-Elf’s channel. Although he tried to stay his body’s reaction, Legolas could not fight the wave of abrupt and intense pleasure that pushed him over the edge, and he shot his seed inside Aragorn’s indulgent mouth.

“Not fair,” he panted out breathlessly. The Elf watched Estel lick his smiling lips and then crawl upon his knees, slicking his cock with oil as he did so. “You ate before me.”

“Don’t fret. You’ll be full soon enough,” the Adan teased back, causing Legolas to laugh throatily at the continuation of their jest.

When Estel grabbed his bag from beside him, Legolas knew what the Ranger intended and lifted his lower body so the human could slide his bag under the small of the Wood-Elf’s back to keep the Prince from having to hold his lower half off the forest floor. Estel took a moment to enjoy the view. If it were anyone else, the laegel might have felt some embarrassment to be so wantonly on display, his legs spread and his clandestine flesh exposed, his shaft slick with seed and spittle from Estel’s mouth. He felt no shame around Estel, however. Indeed, he could feel his body responding to the Adan’s gaze, as if the human were touching him with his hands where his eyes lingered. Again, Aragorn licked his lips before in a shallow thrust the Adan was inside the Elf. The human gave Legolas a moment to adjust to his girth, his hand wrapping around the Prince’s shaft to tease it back to life, before he began to press forward and thus deeper inside the laegel. Once he filled the Elf completely, the human moaned but did not move – at least, not until Legolas twitched his hips, switching the angle of the man’s entry, which caused the Ranger’s cock to hit upon the swell inside him. Immediately, the laegel’s inner muscles clamped down upon the Adan’s shaft at the nearly painfully powerful pleasure.

To the Elf and Ranger, alone in the woods, in an area so far removed from anyone and anything but wildlife, it was as if only the two of them existed. They had no reason to hurry. Here, they had all the time in the world and they would enjoy each moment of it as long as they had each other.

Moving back until he was nearly free of the Silvan’s opening, the human slowly rolled his hips forward until he was seated fully inside the Elf again. Each time the Adan did this, Legolas relaxed his inner flesh upon the man’s push and tightened them as he pulled, just so that he could hear Aragorn’s lustful, groaning response to his frisky actions, while meeting each of Estel’s thrusts with his own. Suddenly, Aragorn stopped for a moment. He bent low to reach Legolas’ mouth, exploring the depths of the Elf’s orifice in languorous leisure, before he latched onto one of the roseate peaks of flesh upon Legolas’ chest, his teeth closing over it gently, licking and sucking at it for a while, ere he moved to the other. Back to the Elf’s mouth did the human move, and then again, he paid his attention to the peaks upon the Silvan's chest, making a round of these sensitive areas until Legolas could take no more. He began to writhe upon the human’s stilled cock, seeking to restart its movement inside him, and in response to Legolas’ frantic desire, with his hands under the Elf’s hips, the Ranger began hauling and heaving the laegel’s lower body against his body, helping Legolas to meet each of his forceful plunges. His aim true, Aragorn’s shaft struck the sensitive, receptive swell inside the Elf each time, until for the Silvan nothing existed in the world except Estel and the pleasure his lover brought him.

As his climax neared, the Wood-Elf threw back his head and closed his eyes for a moment only to hear Estel murmur, “Greenleaf.”

Immediately, he returned the human’s gaze. In that moment, the love and need inside the Ranger’s silver eyes would have sealed the Elf’s fate, had not he already tied his fate to the human months ago. As it usually did, the feeling of Estel’s blisteringly hot seed inside his body fomented his completion, but it was Aragorn’s oil slicked, blissfully chafing hand upon his shaft that brought the Elf to climax just moments after the Ranger.

Sweat dripping from his face and onto the Elf under him, Aragorn leant down to claim the Prince’s lips again. When the need for air finally drove them apart, they stayed as they were for a while longer, their bodies joined with Estel looming over the Elf, and their eyes only for each other. Legolas thought just then to tell the man how much he loved him, but decided that the words would sound trite spoken aloud. It was clear to both lovers without being said – they could see it in each other’s faces.

Utterly spent, Aragorn carefully withdrew from Legolas’ body ere he crawled off to the side to gather the Elf in his arms as he laid down beside the Prince. They remained like that in mutually companionable silence until the smell of the roasting venison made the human’s belly begin growling. They first washed off in the lake, dressed in their trousers but stayed barefoot and shirtless, and sat down together to enjoy their meal. When all was completed for the night and the fire doused to a low pile of embers, the two lovers settled once more upon the bedroll with Legolas lying upon his back to stare up into the stars, while Estel now rested his head upon the Wood-Elf’s bare belly and did the same.

Finally, the human broke the quiet by suggesting flippantly, “Do we ever have to return, Greenleaf? I could stay here forever.”

As he ran his hands across the man’s stubbled face, the laegel chuckled. He wished more than anything that they could, but honestly assured the man, “As long as you are with me, I don’t care where we are, Estel.”

Aragorn lifted his head just enough to flash Legolas a pleased smile, ere he sighed in contentment and laid his head back down upon the Elf’s belly. That night, both the Ranger and the Wood-Elf slept well under the stark light of the stars and moon, never once noticing the being watching them from across the small lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, for sticking through the thick and the thin. I appreciate anyone who has read/kudo'd this series, but most of all, I want to thank those of you who commented -- even if only once -- to let me know what you thought. The encouragement kept me posting even when it was clear that very, very few people were reading. But for those of you who commented, you are the reason I kept plugging away. I'm going to miss talking to you in the comment section!


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